We Have Brought Peace onto You
by jeeno2
Summary: Katniss and Peeta, finding love and surviving in the years leading up to WWII. Set in Germany and very AU.
1. Chapter 1

_September 1923, Frankfurt am Main, Germany_

* * *

Saturday is 5-year-old Peeta Mellark's favorite day of the week.

It's not that he doesn't like school. He does. Kindergarten is actually kind of fun– or at least, more fun than he'd expected. He gets to spend time away from Mama every day, now. At school he gets to run and wrestle with his friends away from her watchful eye.

Of course, school isn't _all_ fun. There are long stretches of time, every single day, where he's supposed to just sit and listen. Peeta doesn't like that part. It's hard to sit quietly for so long, and sometimes he just _can't_ stop fidgeting, no matter how many times Fraulein Schultz raps his knuckles with her ruler and tells him to be still.

But last week Fraulein Schultz taught Peeta how to write his name, and Peeta had never been prouder than he was when he later showed Papa the large P-E-E-T-A he'd written on his school tablet.

None of that matters, though. Because no matter how fun school can sometimes be, Saturday, his one day off, is still the best. Now that he is old enough to be in school Mama and Papa have finally, _finally _decided he is old enough to go with his brothers on their Saturday deliveries. So now, every Saturday morning, he helps Streusel and Rye load up their bicycles with loaves of bread, cakes, and cookies for delivery to the other merchants who, given that Saturday is everyone's busiest day, can't spare the time to come to the bakery for what they need. Peeta has wanted to do this for forever, it seems, and cannot believe that he is finally allowed.

Before Peeta started making deliveries with his brothers he hadn't seen much of anything at all outside the little part of town where he has lived all his life. But now, every week, he gets to ride his little bicycle all over Frankfurt, seeing places and people he's never seen before. The people Peeta sees on Saturdays are the best thing about being 5, he's decided. The thing that keeps him awake half the night on Friday with anticipation. So many different _kinds_ of people, doing so many different things. People playing musical instruments for coins that other people toss into their instrument cases. People driving motorcars along the narrow _strasses_. People wearing the wildest clothes, in the most vibrant colors. People sitting outside cafes drinking coffee or smoking cigarettes, chatting and laughing with each other in German or, sometimes, in languages he cannot understand. He has always known that there was more to the world than his little neighborhood but it is one thing to know something like that and quite another to actually _know. _

Every Saturday night, after deliveries have been made and the bicycles put away for the week, he lies awake for hours wondering, in awe, just how big the whole entire world must be. He wonders if he will get a chance to see for himself someday.

* * *

On this particular Saturday, Peeta and his brothers have been on their bicycles for about four hours (his brothers always staying a few meters ahead of him) when he sees his brothers dismount, errands nearly done for the day and both of the older boys ready for a short break. Although Peeta isn't tired in the slightest – he could, and would, peddle around Frankfurt all day, all week really, if they'd only let him – Peeta slows his bicycle and hops off it to wait for them. He watches Streusel roll a crude cigarette with some tobacco and a bit of paper he has pulled from his pocket, and looks on as he lights it. Peeta doesn't think Streusel really knows what he's doing, but with the cigarette between his lips Peeta thinks Streusel almost looks like a grown-up. Peeta wonders if perhaps that, rather than the cigarette itself, is the point.

(Peeta does not like how his brothers treat him like a baby sometimes, still, even now that he's started school, or how they have jokes they share with each other but not him. They are all he has ever known, though, his brothers, and they're never exactly mean to him, so he guesses he can't really complain.)

After Streusel finishes doing whatever it was he was doing with the cigarette – smoking it, maybe, or perhaps just pretending to– he and Rye jump back on their bicycles and Peeta does the same. They only have a few more deliveries to make and then they will be ready to go home. Peeta peddles quickly to keep up with the older boys as they pull up to Herr Everdeen's butcher shop. He's only met Herr Everdeen once before but he knows he likes the butcher (although he also knows his Mama does _not _like him, for some reason) with his sparkling grey eyes and cheerful voice.

Peeta and his brothers climb off their bicycles and lean them against the side wall of the butcher shop. Rye hands Peeta the small bag of cookies they'll be delivering to Herr Everdeen while he and Streusel, between them, bring in the three loaves of bread. His oldest brother opens the door to the butcher shop and Peeta can hear the tinkling bells over the door signaling their entry.

The butcher shop is small but noisy, and very crowded. He sees Herr Everdeen behind the counter, waiting on an elderly woman with a large cloth satchel in her hands. When the butcher hears the bells over the door jingle he looks up and smiles at the boys, motioning with his free hand for them to head over to the other side of the room to where a small girl, probably his daughter, stands behind the counter, busying herself with something that Peeta cannot see.

Peeta is about to head over towards where Herr Everdeen motioned them when he feels an elbow in his side. "Peeta," Streusel whispers loudly to him. "You see that little girl over there?"

Peeta looks at her then turns to his brother. "Um. Yeah?"

Streusel nods at him and says, "Papa wanted to marry her mother, once. But before he could ask her she ran off with that Jewish butcher."

Peeta is confused. He adores his father and cannot imagine why anyone would refuse to marry him. So he asks, "Why would she marry a butcher when she could have had Papa?"

Rye, overhearing, snickers and mutters something that makes no sense at all. Something about Jewish men, and how they cut off part of their… their _things,_ and how some women must like that.

Streusel punches Rye's arm, hard, and rolls his eyes. Calls Rye "an idiot." Turning back to Peeta he says, "She married Herr Everdeen because when he sings, no matter how loud the room was before, no matter how many people are in it, the room falls silent and everyone stops to listen."

Peeta doesn't really see how a thing like that is even possible. But it wouldn't be the first time his brothers had tried to play a joke on him. He lets it go and approaches the counter where the little girl stands.

She's finished with what had occupied her and her eyes move between the three boys as they approach. Peeta notices right away that the girl is about his age, although he's positive he has never seen her at school before. She definitely was not here the last time he and his brothers made a delivery to Herr Everdeen; he would have remembered if she had been. Peeta also notices that she looks somewhat different from him and most of his friends. Where his hair is blond and curly, her hair is dark and straight, in two neat braids that flow down her back. His eyes are blue; hers, however, are grey like her fathers'. Peeta's entire family and most of the people in his neighborhood are very fair-skinned but this little girl has a much darker complexion.

She's standing there, staring at Peeta, at his brothers. She doesn't say a word but just watches them. Something about her, about her even gaze, makes Peeta nervous. He doesn't know why.

After a few more moments, Herr Everdeen makes his way over to his daughter. "Katniss, _Liebchen_ - have you met the Mellarks yet?" He gestures to Peeta and his brothers.

The girl, Katniss, continues to look at Peeta and his brothers. "No, Papa. Not yet."

Herr Everdeen smiles and says, "Young Peeta here is going to be in your class when you start school next week, I think." Turning to Peeta he explains, "Katniss' mother just had a baby. So we kept her home from the first few weeks of Kindergarten so that she could help at home. But now that Frau Everdeen is mostly recovered we have decided it is time for her to start Kindergarten with her friends. She starts tomorrow." He turns back to Katniss. "Won't that be nice?"

Katniss smiles, although the smile does not reach her eyes. Peeta wonders if perhaps she is not nearly as excited to start school as he had been. This thought troubles him.

Herr Everdeen reaches across the counter and takes the packages from the boys. "Thank you for these. See you next week." Peeta smiles at the butcher. The three brothers turn to make their way to the door.

But before they reach it Peeta hears a voice that stops his footsteps, his breathing, his heart. It's Katniss. She's singing. Before he can stop himself he spins around where he's standing so he can see her. She seems to be singing to herself – she isn't looking at anyone while she's singing, but rather going about her business on the other side of the counter. Peeta has never heard anything like her voice in his life. He's unable to understand the words she's singing, over and over again – "_Hevenu shalom alecheim"_ – but he hears the words, whatever they are, clear as a bell, because suddenly there's nothing else in this busy, noisy butcher shop besides her voice, her sparkling silver eyes, _her_.

Her voice sounds like angels singing. Like happiness itself. And even though he's only 5 he knows, he _knows_, that he wants to hear her voice again and again and again. For the rest of his life.

He is vaguely aware that he's staring at Katniss now, and that his brothers are rolling their eyes at each other as they snicker at him. He doesn't care.

For the first time since Peeta started making deliveries with his brothers he cannot wait for school the next day.

* * *

_a/n This is my first fanfic in at least a thousand years. Reviews, therefore, are very much appreciated! My hope is to turn this into a multi-chapter fic. We will see whether there's sufficient author time for that to happen. :) _


	2. Chapter 2

_February 1932, Frankfurt am Main_

* * *

Katniss' eyes widen. She looks around her, trying to find a way to escape.

But it's hopeless, she quickly realizes. There will be no escape. They have her right where they want her.

Resigned, she turns to Madge Undersee, shakes her head and asks, "Do you think we should we just get it over with?"

"I suppose," Madge sighs, shrugging. Resolute, the two girls collect their satchels and walk as quickly as their dressy school shoes will allow down the ice-covered steps of their school.

In the end, however, they are just not fast enough.

"Attack!" Gale Hawthorne yells at the top of his lungs, right before he and his two partners in crime begin pelting Katniss and Madge with a barrage of icy, crusty snowballs. The girls run from the scene, shrieking and laughing as snowball after snowball connects with their heads, backs, legs.

At first Katniss worries that the boys will chase after them. It is soon clear, however, that Gale and company have no intention of giving up their strategic position under the stairs. She is glad about that, although she feels a little guilty about feeling glad when she sees the next group of unsuspecting victims step through the school's front doors. From the looks of their snowball stockpile the boys have been outside for hours, getting ready. They must have skipped all their afternoon classes in order to prepare.

Their poor classmates don't stand a chance.

"I cannot be_lieve_ Gale Hawthorne is sixteen years old," Madge says, incredulous and laughing, brushing the snow off her clothes with her hands as the girls make their way across the field in front of their school. "He acts like he's seven!"

Katniss bristles inwardly at Madge's words. It's true – Gale Hawthorne is no gentleman. But Katniss can, and does, easily forgive his sillier antics, suspecting they come only from his having to grow up way too soon in the ways that truly matter, from suddenly becoming the man of his family at age fourteen after his father's untimely accidental death.

But she also knows that her friend Madge, the privileged daughter of one of Frankfurt's most prominent politicians, cannot relate, or even really understand, any of this. And that it isn't her fault, not at all, that she cannot relate. So Katniss simply smiles and nods her assent to Madge's words, feeling a small pang of guilt at her disloyalty to Gale in doing so.

The girls walk on in companionable silence for a few minutes, satchels full of books slung over their shoulders. The path they are on is one a lot of their classmates use to get home after school, and every now and then an acquaintance passes them on a bicycle, waving as they go by.

"Are you sure you can't come to dinner tonight, Madge?" Katniss asks before turning towards her home. "It's _Shabbat_. And I know how much you looooove spending time with Uncle Haymitch." She nudges her friend.

Madge shakes her head. "I wish I could, Katniss. Your family is so much fun. But Papa is having several 'very important people'" she emphasizes the words, with mockery, "over for dinner tonight. From Berlin. I really have to be there."

Katniss' is used to Madge frequently having to turn down invitations because of her own family responsibilities. That does not mean she has to like it. And she doesn't. She scowls at Madge's response even though she knows she probably shouldn't.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I really am. But you are still coming to our Winter party tomorrow, right?" Madge asks hopefully. "There will be music, food, loads of people…."

Katniss is not exactly excited at the prospect of seeing "loads of people" at Madge's party tomorrow. Large groups of strangers make her uneasy, and she knows there will be no way to avoid people she does not know at this party. But Madge is her dearest friend, despite their significant differences – her only friend, really, besides Gale. So Katniss replies, with as much feigned enthusiasm as she can muster, that she will be there as soon as her work at the butcher shop is done.

Madge smiles. Says she'll see Katniss tomorrow afternoon. The girls embrace, and then turn in opposite directions towards their respective homes.

* * *

Katniss loves _Shabbat_. She and her family could hardly be called devoutly religious. But it doesn't matter. Although she knows that _Shabbat _has religious origins, for Katniss, the tradition carries only cultural, rather than religious, significance. For her it is a time to spend with family and close friends. Every week the Everdeens celebrate _Shabbat _over a Friday night meal, with candles, wine when they can afford it, _challah_, and delicious food. It is the one night each week when Papa does not work, Mama's ever-present gloom dissipates, and the rest of the world is left outside the door. On _Shabbat_, people's only responsibilities are to share, talk, eat until they are fit to burst, and laugh as if there isn't a care in the world.

And for one night every week – on _Shabbat_ – there isn't.

Katniss enters the kitchen and finds her mother opening the oven to check on the _challah_. Katniss' family, like everyone else, gets most of its bread from Herr Mellark's bakery. But her mother has always made the _challah_ they eat every Friday night_. _ Katniss doubts the Mellark bakery makes the traditional Jewish bread anyway.

Ilse Everdeen hears Katniss walk in and shuts the oven door. "Hello, dear! How was your day?" she asks Katniss before checking on something simmering on the stove.

Katniss responds that it was fine as she crosses to the cupboard and collects a stack of plates. She walks to the dining room and arranges place settings for her parents, herself, her sister Prim, and Uncle Haymitch.

As she sets the table Katniss notices Uncle Haymitch reclining in one of the living room chairs. He's already over for dinner and, from the looks of him, already halfway to being drunk.

"Good evening, _sweetheart_," Uncle Haymitch nods at Katniss without looking up from his book. Uncle Haymitch has called Katniss _sweetheart_ for as long as she can remember. It wasn't until last year, when Katniss started taking English in school, that she learned that _sweetheart _was not just some nonsense word Haymitch had invented but was actually an English word meaning something akin to _liebchen_. Why Uncle Haymitch would use an English term of endearment when addressing Katniss is beyond her. But in truth, it is never all that clear to Katniss why Uncle Haymitch does the vast majority of the things he does.

"Hi Uncle Haymitch," she replies. "How are the geese? Those eggs hatch yet?" Haymitch grunts cryptically by way of response and continues reading, reaching for his glass of beer.

Dinner is ready shortly thereafter. Prim comes bounding down the hallway to sit at the table and the rest of the family follows her lead.

And the evening is flawless. Dinner is delicious like it always is. After the blessing is said over the wine and before the main course, Prim stands on her chair and recites a poem she learned in class this past week. She receives a well-earned and, of course, wholly unbiased, standing ovation for her performance. Papa later, with a twinkle in his eye, shares a scandalous story involving the milk man, Frau Schmidt, and her ailing cat. Papa swears he overheard customers talking about it in the shop on Tuesday but Katniss suspects Papa made the story up on the spot.

Everything is peaceful and right. And perfect. Katniss finds herself wishing she could freeze this moment and live in it forever.

And then - just as they are finishing dessert, and long after after Prim has started to nod off in her chair, Haymitch clears his throat. "I have an announcement to make," he says.

Katniss is not surprised. _Shabbat_ just wouldn't be _Shabbat_ without a Haymitch proclamation. She attributes this to the considerable drinking problem Uncle Haymitch has had ever since losing his wife, Katniss' Aunt Maysilee, after the Great War. Well, his drinking problem, plus the fact that the wine typically flows freely at the Everdeen's _Shabbat_ table, plus the fact that the local university actually employs Uncle Haymitch to give lectures on various topics relating to war history, meaning that in his day-to-day life people actually pay him, encourage him even, to ramble on about things.

Katniss' Papa looks at Haymitch, amusement in his eyes. "Do you now, Haymitch?" he asks, humoring the older man. "An announcement, you say? Please. We are all ears."

Uncle Haymitch looks the assembled Everdeens in the eye, one by one, and then says, without further segue, "I am immigrating to America in three days."

Papa drops the water glass he was holding and water spills everywhere. Mama jumps up from the table like a shot, ostensibly to get a dishrag from the kitchen to clean up the mess. When she returns her eyes are like saucers, her face ashen. Prim begins to cry.

Katniss feels like the bottom has dropped out of her stomach.

Papa recovers first. "Haymitch," he begins, voice wavering. "America! But… but _why_?"

Uncle Haymitch looks his cousin directly in the eye. "Al, you know damnwellwhy."

Papa, to Katniss' shock, says nothing to dispute this. Instead, when he speaks again it is only to ask, "but why so soon, Haymitch?"

Uncle Haymitch says, "I was just offered a position at NYU. I guess America needs old blowhards like me to pontificate about wars and history and the history of wars just as much as German universities do." He scoffs. "Job starts in six weeks. Figured I should leave as soon as possible to get settled. It apparently takes a solid 10 days to cross the Atlantic on those damn boats."

In a much quieter voice, one Katniss thinks is meant mostly for Papa, Haymitch continues. "Once I get there, should be much easier for you to immigrate. Once a person's got family in America it's –"

"NO!" Papa shouts. Slams his fist on the table. Katniss cannot remember the last time she saw her usually even-tempered father this agitated, this flustered. The look in his eyes completely unnerves her. "Haymitch, this is our home," he says, almost desperately. "This is where we belong. Where we have always lived. I am not about to uproot my family, leave behind everything we are just because -"

"Al" – Haymitch tries to interrupt.

Papa does not let him. "No, Haymitch. NO." He grabs his wineglass, takes a large swallow. "_Nothing_ _has happened_," he continues, carefully emphasizing the words. In a much quieter voice he says, "Nothing is going to happen."

"I wish I could believe that," Haymitch responds. "I've told you what I'm hearing at the university. What the students are saying, what they are planning. I am worried, Al. Damn worried."

"There is nothing I can do to convince you to change your mind about this," Papa says. It is not a question.

Haymitch only shakes his head.

Katniss desperately wants Papa, anyone, to explain what he and Haymitch appear determined not to say in front of the rest of them. What is it that has Haymitch so alarmed that he's decided to move across the ocean? What is it that he is hearing at the university? What is it that Papa insists is not happening? But neither man seems inclined to continue speaking. Katniss looks over to Mama, hoping to find some sort of explanation in her eyes. But Mama's face has gone blank.

When the room has been silent for five minutes it appears to Katniss that the discussion – or, half-discussion, as it were – is officially over. Katniss finds this unacceptable. She may only be a thirteen-year-old girl but she refuses to be kept in the dark. Clearly, something important is happening, and she vows to find out what it is.

An hour later, the dishes have been stacked in the sink and Prim put to bed. Uncle Haymitch makes to leave the house – for the last time, Katniss thinks sadly – and collects his coat from the rack by the door. Katniss walks over to him and, without thinking about it, throws her arms around him.

"Will we ever see you again?" she asks before she can stop herself.

Uncle Haymitch sighs. "I don't know, _sweetheart_. I hope you will. But I don't know."

Her eyes fill with tears. Uncle Haymitch might be a perpetually drunk curmudgeon, but he is _her_ perpetually drunk curmudgeon. And she does not want to lose him. Cannot fathom life without him always around.

She has to know what's going on. "Uncle Haymitch," she begins. "Why are you leaving? You said Papa knew why. And it sounded like you think we should move too. _Please_, Haymitch, _please _tell me – what is going on?" She recognizes that her voice has taken on a strange pleading quality.

"_Sweetheart_," Haymitch begins, "if it were up to me you would know everything already. But you are not my daughter, and I do not have the right to decide what you get to know." Haymitch looks her directly in the eye. "You are going to have to talk to your father about this. I encourage you to do just that, and soon."

Katniss nods. "I will. Thank you."

Knowing this is likely going to be the last time she ever sees her uncle, she decides to lighten the mood and changes the subject. "So, Uncle Haymitch. Since it will definitely… well, be a while, at least, before we see each other again… I'm going to have to go a long time without any wise Haymitchisms. Do you have any parting words of wisdom? Of advice?" She tries to smile but mostly fails.

He looks at Katniss with an expression on his face she has never seen before.

"Yeah. I do." He swallows. "Stay alive."

And with that, he leaves the house and is gone.

* * *

The butcher shop sees very little business the next afternoon. Papa knows that Gale and Katniss have Madge's party this evening so he lets them leave work a little early to get ready.

Although Katniss typically enjoys the busyness of working in the butcher shop she is grateful that Papa let her leave work early today. She slept very poorly the night before due to Haymitch's announcement and the ensuing cryptic conversation between him and Papa. As a result she found it very difficult to focus on her work today. Which, when said work mostly involves chopping big pieces of meat into smaller pieces of meat with a sharp cleaver, can be a problem.

Before leaving for the day Katniss tries to confront Papa in the back office to talk about what happened last night, but Papa simply waves her off. He's busy, he tells her, and she has a party to attend. He promises her that they will have a long talk this evening.

"Have fun tonight, _liebchen,"_ he smiles, shutting his office door as she leaves.

As Gale and Katniss trudge together down the snowy path that leads from their neighborhood to the much nicer part of town where the Undersees live, Katniss tries to talk to him about what happened last night. To her immense relief he validates her concerns.

"Haymitch is moving to America?" he asks, incredulous. "I thought he hated to travel. I thought he never even leaves Frankfurt if he can avoid it."

Katniss nods. "It's true. I'm not sure that he has ever even been outside Germany."

"I am sorry that Haymitch is going away. I really am. I know what he means to you." Gale pauses. "I know that this is Haymitch we're talking about here, and that he is always doing crazy things. I mean, the man has raised geese inside his one-room flat for the past ten years!" He chuckles. "And ordinarily I would say that your father has much better judgment, generally, than Haymitch does. But that conversation last night…" he trails off.

"I know."

"Well, I am very glad that you will be talking with your father about this tonight. Please, let me know what he says. Seriously, I am as worried about this as you are."

Katniss squeezes his arm. He looks down at her hand, then up at her. "Thanks, Gale."

He smiles, then clears his throat. "So, how much further is it to the Undersees' house, do you know?" Gale asks, definitively changing the subject. "I'm freezing out here."

"I think we're almost there. Oh, look – there it is," Katniss says, pointing.

Gale lets out a low whistle when they reach the front door. "Um. Wow," is all he manages to say.

He has a point, Katniss thinks. She has been to Madge's house several times before but she can remember how awe-struck she was on her first visit. It is easily the largest home she has ever seen, and by a significant margin. Her own house is hardly something to be ashamed of – after all, it has two separate bedrooms, one for her parents and one she shares with Prim, along with a kitchen, dining room, and separate living area that her family sits in to chat and listen to the radio together in the evenings. But she guesses that ten of her houses could easily fit inside the first floor of Madge's.

Gale raps on the front door and a well-dressed butler opens it for them. He takes their coats and shows them the way to the part of the home where Madge's friends are assembled. As Gale and Katniss walk down the hallway Katniss takes note of the elaborate winter decorations all over the home. She knows that the point of the party is not really to entertain Madge's friends, that there is another, separate party just for adults in another part of the home that they will not see tonight. Gale, Katniss and their schoolmates are just an afterthought, really; simply the lucky beneficiaries of Madge's parents' largesse and their periodic need to entertain dignitaries from Berlin.

Not that either she or Gale are in any position to complain.

Katniss spots Madge right away when they enter their room, American jazz music playing loudly on the phonograph in the corner. "Katniss! Gale! You're here!" she greets them cheerfully. "Come, would you like something to drink?"

"Sure," Gale answers.

"Then follow me," Madge says, pulling Gale by the arm.

Katniss finds an empty couch and sits down, surveying her surroundings. Servants periodically circle the room with fancy silver trays bearing what she is sure is delicious food, if the two dinners she's eaten at the Undersees' in the past are any indication. There must be at least seventy-five guests here, mostly people she recognizes from school but some she's never seen before.

Katniss begins to feel anxious. She finds herself wishing she had gone with Gale and Madge to get a drink. She does not know what to do with her hands.

Some boys seated on a couch across the room from her start talking very loudly to each other, attracting her attention. She looks more closely and sees two of the Mellark brothers, Peeta and Streusel, with a red-haired boy who looks about Streusel's age that she does not know.

"Look, Mellark," the red-headed boy says loudly to Peeta, standing up. "All I am saying is you need to get it together. Alright?" He claps Peeta on the back and Streusel starts laughing. Peeta, however, does not look amused at all. And then, for some reason, at that moment he glances across the room at Katniss. When he sees that she is looking at him he quickly averts his eyes while simultaneously turning a bright shade of red.

Katniss has no idea what it is she just witnessed. But then, Peeta Mellark has never made much sense to her.

She has known Peeta since they were children. He's delivered bread to her house every Saturday since they were both very young. At first, when he was still a very small boy, he would come with his older brothers, earnestly peddling his little bicycle behind theirs. Now, though, he delivers the Everdeens' bread by himself. Herr Mellark's bakery has become so successful that he decided several years ago that splitting the boys up for deliveries made more sense. This way they could maximize the number of deliveries they could make each week. And Peeta, now fourteen years old, hardly needs his brothers to supervise him anymore.

For years, Katniss was convinced Peeta hated her. When they were younger he never so much as looked at her at school. When he came to their shop for deliveries with his brothers he would address Papa, Gale, Mama, other customers even – _anyone_ but her. He wouldn't even look at her when it was her turn to sing in music class, instead keeping his eyes averted, looking positively stricken.

She does think Peeta's hatred of her has abated somewhat over the years. At least now he looks at her, sometimes. And sometimes even gives her a strange, strangled-looking smile. But he still never, ever speaks to her, even though she knows full well that he is not shy. In fact, from observing him over the years she knows he is the exact opposite of shy. He has countless friends and by all accounts is gregarious and charming. With everyone who isn't her, that is.

What has always made the situation with Peeta so troubling is that she cannot help but feel that Peeta is someone worth knowing, someone who she would like very, very much if he would only give her the chance to know him. She sees him with his friends – at school, in town, on his bicycle on the weekends – and she can tell that he is a warm, genuine, caring person. She also knows from observing him over the years that he has varied interests. He can draw and paint beautifully, can bake the most amazing breads and pastries, and has a keen appreciation for beauty. So many of their classmates have such trivial interests, if they have any real interests at all. Peeta is not like them; not in the slightest. She finds that fascinating.

Recently, too, she has begun to notice physical changes in him that she also finds… fascinating. In addition to his physical attributes that she has always found appealing. His eyes, such a beautiful shade of blue, his long eyelashes…

But she does not admit any of that to herself very often.

Out of fear of rejection, or out of just plain fear, Katniss has never done anything to try to convince Peeta she is worth knowing, worth liking. She has never been very good with words, has never known what she would even _say_ to him if she approached him. Today, however – perhaps because she is still reeling from the events of last night; or perhaps simply because she cannot find Gale or Madge and she doesn't know what to do with herself at this strange place with these people she barely knows – she feels a sense of urgency she has never felt before to address this issue head on.

Today. Right now.

She grabs a hot beverage from a passing servant just to have something to do with her hands and stands up. Before she has even taken two steps, however, she sees Peeta walking purposefully towards her.

"Hello, Katniss," Peeta says. He is smiling right at her.

This is the longest sentence he has ever said to her in his life.

Katniss is shocked . _Peeta Mellark is talking to me? _she thinks, incredulously, to herself. "Hello, Peeta," she manages, and smiles back. Fidgets. Looks at the little cup in her hands because she cannot look at his face.

"They call it hot chocolate," Peeta says, motioning to her drink. "It's good. " Another smile.

She takes a delicate sip, the beverage too hot to do anything more, and he's right. It is absolutely delicious. Before she can stop herself she takes another sip, and another, until the drink is gone.

"GENTLEMEN! May I have your attention, please!" a loud voice rings out across the room. Everyone in the room turns their heads to the source of the interruption. Katniss sees the speaker is the same red-haired older boy Peeta was talking to earlier.

When he has the attention of the room the boy continues. "I would like to announce that I have, in my possession here today, some… _delicate_ and _classified_ documents for your perusal. Should you care to… ah… _review_ them with me, I invite you to join me outside at the present time." He grins from ear to ear and waggles his eyebrows.

Raucous laughter erupts from most of the boys in the room, and the majority of them (Gale included, Katniss notes) make their way to the back door.

"Oy! Mellark! You coming or not?" The red-haired boy shouts when Peeta doesn't move from where he's standing.

Katniss turns to Peeta and sees that he is starting to blush again. "No, Finnick. I'm – I'm all right. I'll—I'll talk to you later, okay?" he stammers.

The red-haired boy – Finnick – looks at Peeta for a moment and then, seeing that Katniss is beside him, starts to laugh as if Peeta is the funniest thing he has ever seen.

"Oh, but are you sure, brother?" Streusel asks, grinning, heading for the door himself. "He's got some real cute brunettes this time, you know how much you…"

"All right, all right," Finnick interrupts, "Come on, let's leave him alone. Shall we?" And with that, Finnick and Streusel leave the room, shutting the door behind them.

Katniss glances at Peeta, who looks like he would like nothing more than for the earth to open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

Madge approaches them, shaking her head. "Honestly, if my parents find out what they're doing out there they will _never_ let me have another party."

Katniss clears her throat. "Um. Are they… what are they… um… doing… out there, exactly?" she manages to ask, a little embarrassed. But she thinks she already has some idea.

Peeta rolls his eyes. "Dirty pictures," he says. "Finnick has a cousin in the army. Apparently army men have a ready supply. And Finnick's cousin keeps him and Streu well provisioned."

"And Finnick always brings some to my parties, for some reason," Madge adds with disgust. "He needs to stop. I don't _care_ how popular it makes him with the other boys. One of these days he's going to get me in a lot of trouble."

Katniss starts to laugh, in spite of herself. She knows laughing about this is wildly inappropriate but she cannot help it. "Boys are so ridiculous," she says between giggles.

Peeta looks at her, affronted. "Not all boys, I hope?" he asks.

Katniss only smiles at him.

In the end, Katniss has a lot more fun at Madge's party than she had expected to.

When the boys return from their escapade, Madge leads her guests through a series of party games. Some of the games are more inspired than others – and some of them are downright silly – but Katniss throws herself into the activities in a way she never usually does. By the end, she and Peeta and Gale and Finnick are festooned with ribbons and bows and Katniss is breathless with laughter.

After the games comes the live music. Madge's parents actually hired a live jazz band to play for their daughter's friends. Katniss has never seen this kind of music performed live before and she is fascinated by the different instruments. She does not really know how to dance but she tries to keep up with Madge, who clearly does, and the rest of the people in the room, letting the rhythm move her body in ways she'd never imagined possible.

Peeta does not spend the entire evening by her side. He has so many friends, after all, and he clearly enjoys spending time with them. And of course, he barely knows her. Had never even spoken her, not even once, before tonight. But despite all of that they keep finding ways to bump into each other. During Madge's silly games. At dinner. When the dancing begins. Sometimes she finds her eyes drawn to him, even when he is all the way across the room and talking with someone else. She cannot seem to help herself. And sometimes, when she finds herself looking at him, she notices that he is looking at her, too. It makes her stomach clench in an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, way.

Katniss has no idea what is responsible for this dramatic change in his behavior, or how to even begin to ask.

Finally, at 11, the party draws to a close. Katniss realizes, with some degree of shock, that she has not thought about Haymitch, and her impending conversation with Papa, in hours. After embracing Madge and thanking her for a wonderful evening, Katniss makes her way to where the butler has stored her coat. She sees Gale there, smiles, and says, "Shall we go, then?"

Gale says, "Actually, I want to talk with Finnick and Streusel for a bit. They are having a few people over to their flat tonight. Sounds fun, and I wasn't planning on going to school tomorrow anyway," he says with a twinkle in his eye. "Will you be all right without me? There are loads of kids here from our neighborhood, I am sure you can walk home with Eleanor and Edith, or with—"

"You know, I'm going that way myself," Peeta interrupts. Katniss hadn't seen him approach. "I would be honored to walk you home, Katniss."

"Thank you Peeta," Katniss replies, surprised. "I would like that very much." He smiles at her.

She turns back to Gale, who now looks unhappy for some reason. "I'll see you on Monday, then."

"Yeah. See you Monday," he says, his smile not reaching his eyes.

"Ready?" Peeta asks her, opening the front door. Once outside, Peeta collects his bicycle from where it leans against the side of the house. He hurries over to where Katniss is waiting, one hand on the bicycle's handlebars as he walks it on his opposite side.

The outside air is much colder than it had been earlier in the day. Katniss buries her hands in the pockets of her coat as they walk, wishing she had worn warmer gloves.

"Did you have fun this evening?" she asks him, mostly just to have something to say. He is walking right beside her, this beautiful, confusing boy who has never spoken to her before this evening, and she is full of butterflies.

"I did," he answers. "I love jazz, don't you? And the food was just… wow. I haven't eaten so much at one time in ages, but I couldn't seem to stop. It was just all so good." A long pause. "Did you have fun?" he asks her.

Katniss nods. "I did. I didn't expect to, but I did."

Peeta looks at her. "Why didn't you expect to have fun tonight?"

Katniss thinks for a moment. Tries to come up with the words to explain her social anxieties to this very social boy who will likely not understand. "I have a hard time, sometimes, when I am with people I don't know very well. It makes me feel… anxious, somehow. I don't know, things like this just are not usually very fun for me." She decides to omit what happened last night with Haymitch. She does not want to spoil the moment. "I did not even really want to come tonight. But Madge is my friend, so…"

Peeta says, in a quiet voice, "Well. I am glad you did come."

She turns to him. "I'm glad I came, too. It was… a wonderful surprise, this evening."

They are both quiet again for a long time. Katniss' hands fidget inside her pockets.

"Katniss," Peeta begins, as they approach her house. "I… um. I…" He stops.

Katniss turns to face him. She looks him in the eye. She notices, for the first time, that he has a light smattering of freckles on his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose.

He is so lovely.

"Katniss," he tries again. Shakes his head as if to clear it. "Look. I… um." He falters again, looking extremely agitated.

"Peeta," she says, shyly, deciding she should help him. "I had a very nice time tonight. I had a nice time… getting to know you, a little. Thank you for talking with me tonight. And for… for walking me home." She cannot help the blush she can feel rising on her face.

"Katniss, I have wanted to talk to you for ages," he finally blurts out. "For years. For my… um. My whole life, really." He turns away from her, looks at his bicycle, his shoes, anywhere but at her.

She does not know what to say. "Peeta. Why… why didn't you…" she trails off.

He turns to her. He shakes his head and says, cryptically, but as if it explains everything, "Katniss, you have no idea. The effect you can have." He chuckles, a little. "I've been a goner since I was five years old, Katniss, and I heard you singing in your father's shop. I just couldn't talk to you. I was too… terrified."

She moves a little closer to him and puts her hand on his arm. Looks into his eyes. "What changed tonight?" It has been on her mind all evening.

He grins sheepishly. "Finnick threatened me, essentially. He said he was going to tell you, tonight, at the party, that I fancy you if I didn't make some kind of move. He said he was sick of listening to me moon about endlessly over a girl I had never even spoken to before. I think his exact words were, 'you need to get it together.'" He chuckles. "And he would have done it, too. You've seen how he operates. He is nothing if not a man of action."

Katniss laughs. "Maybe Finnick isn't such a bad fellow after all," she says quietly.

And then, once again, there is silence between them.

He stands there, looking at her. Into her eyes. And she is looking into his eyes, his beautiful, deep blue eyes. It makes her feel a little dizzy.

"Katniss…." he begins, then stops. He takes her hand. He leans forward imperceptibly. She does not know what happens next.

She holds her breath. She thinks maybe she should close her eyes, and she does.

And then her eyes fly open when she hears the loud crash the brick makes as it flies through the front window of her family's butcher shop, smashing it into thousands of pieces.

She and Peeta instinctively snap their heads in the direction of the noise. And by the light of the moon they can see three shadowy figures flee from the scene and dart out of sight.

* * *

_a/n – Several of you asked what Katniss was singing at the end of the Prologue. It's a traditional Jewish folk song derived from a 17th century Hebrew prayer. Translated into English, the words Katniss was singing are, literally, "We Have Brought Peace onto You." Hence this fic's title. ;) _

_I can't thank you enough for your kind reviews, your recs, and your encouragement. _


	3. Chapter 3

_August, 1938; Brooklyn, New York_

_Haymitch Abernathy takes his pocket watch off the nightstand. Squinting at its face in the dark of his bedroom he can make out the time, but just barely. _

_It is three in the morning, which means he has been lying in bed, awake, for four hours now. _

"_Damnit," Haymitch mutters. Realizing that he will not sleep tonight he decides to get out of bed. He dreads what teaching his morning class will feel like after an entire night with no sleep. _

_But he also knows that how wrecked he feels in the morning hardly matters._

_Haymitch pulls on his robe and walks into the study. He picks up the well-worn piece of paper lying in the center of the desk and turns on the lamp. He re-reads the letter for what might be the hundredth time, even though he has already committed its contents to memory._

_It tells him that his niece will arrive in New York at four o'clock this afternoon. _

_He will see her again, today, after more than six years. He never thought this would happen. But now she is coming here to stay. And she will be safe. _

_For the first time in almost twenty years, Haymitch Abernathy begins to weep._

* * *

_February, 1932; Frankfurt am Main_

Peeta quickly turns back to Katniss. Her eyes are panicked, wild. Peeta is about to suggest they go and find her father when Herr Everdeen rushes out the front door of his home in his nightclothes, carrying a lantern. He must have heard the glass smashing from inside the house.

When her father reaches them Peeta realizes, too late, that he is still holding Katniss' hand. He drops it immediately, but Peeta knows her father saw.

Not that Herr Everdeen will likely care given present circumstances.

"What happened?" Katniss' father asks, frantic. "Are you hurt, _liebchen?"_

"No, Papa. But the shop…"

"I heard from the house," he says. "Please, go inside. Right now. The people who did this may still be nearby and I do not you want you anywhere near them."

Katniss complies immediately, rushing into the house, terrified.

Herr Everdeen turns to Peeta, a look of grim determination on his face. "Did you see who did this? Did you see anything at all?" he asks, in a stern voice. Gone is the friendly, smiling butcher Peeta has grown up with.

"All I saw was three people running away from the building after the window was smashed, sir," he says. "But it was very dark. I couldn't see them clearly."

"Did you see their faces? What they looked like, what they were wearing?" Herr Everdeen presses urgently.

"No, sir," Peeta replies.

Katniss' father nods. "I see." He pauses. "Thank you, Peeta. But it is late. You should go home." It is clearly not a request. He walks past Peeta towards the scene of destruction without another word.

Peeta wants to stay. He wants to help find out what happened tonight. He wants to comfort Katniss. And, selfishly, he doesn't want his evening with her to be over, not at all, and certainly not like this.

But Herr Everdeen's words and tone brook no opposition. So Peeta does the only thing he can and mounts his bicycle to make for home.

Before he gets very far, he turns back to look at the Everdeens' butcher shop. And for the first time he can see, by the light of Herr Everdeen's lantern, the large Star of David hastily painted in yellow next to the destroyed front window, along with the word "JEW" in large capital letters.

Peeta thinks he might be ill.

* * *

It takes Peeta nearly three quarters of an hour to get home. His house is in a different part of town and, in truth, walking Katniss home had taken him quite a bit out of his way. But when he overheard (accidentally, he would have insisted if asked) that Gale had after-party plans and was unable to walk Katniss to her house… well. What choice did he have other than to be a gentleman and see her safely home?

As he reached for Katniss' hand earlier this evening, as he gathered his courage to kiss her for the first time, Peeta briefly reminded himself to thank Finnick and Streusel for inviting Gale to their little gathering. (The idea had been theirs.) He also felt a fleeting pang of guilt over this slight deception. But all of that was before the brick destroyed both the window and the moment with Katniss that he had waited for for more than eight years. It is impossible for him to think about anything, now, other than what he saw as he rode away from the Everdeens' home.

Peeta knows that in Germany, Jews are more integrated into mainstream society than they are almost anywhere else in the world. Peeta has a Jewish teacher, a Jewish doctor, and Jewish classmates (including the girl he has loved since he was five). In other parts of Europe, Peeta knows that Jews mostly live in isolated, self-contained villages, and even speak their own unique language called Yiddish. But German Jews speak German, not Yiddish. They live, work, and, in the case of the Great War, even fight and die alongside their non-Jewish countrymen.

But Peeta also knows this official integration is really only on the surface. Peeta has, throughout his life, been repeatedly exposed to the deep hostility many – perhaps even most – non-Jewish Germans actually feel towards their Jewish neighbors. He has grown up listening to his mother's complaints to Papa about their Jewish customers and her regular instance that Mellark's Bakery should refuse to sell to them at all.

Sadly, Peeta also knows that his mother is far from the only German to feel this way.

Hating an entire group of people simply because of who they are goes against everything Peeta believes in. It repulses him. It always has. He treats these attitudes, and the people who hold them, dismissively. Including his mother. But until tonight he had never heard of anyone actually _acting_ on these feelings, of engaging in violent acts fueled by this blind hatred. And he simply cannot be dismissive of this.

He is enraged. And terrified. What if the hateful people who did this return to the Everdeens' home tonight? What if they hurt Katniss, her little sister, her parents?

He should have refused to leave when Herr Everdeen told him to go, he thinks. He should have stayed behind to protect them. To protect Katniss. He may only be fourteen but he is very strong and if someone tried to hurt Katniss… well, that person would have to deal with him, first.

The thought of someone hurting her is unbearable.

He worries about Katniss for a long time, lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, willing her to be safe. He promises himself that he will do everything he can to make sure no one ever, ever hurts her. He doesn't know if he has the right – he doesn't, after all, know what he means to her, if she would even accept him in this way. But he cannot do anything else.

Five o'clock comes very early the next morning.

Peeta blearily rubs his eyes and quickly dresses for his shift at the bakery. Upon entering the bakery's kitchen he sees Streusel and Rye already in their aprons and up to their elbows in bread dough.

"Good morning, Romeo," Streu practically coos to him, not bothering to look up from his work. "Have a pleasant evening?"

"Well, yes and no," Peeta answers, tying on his own apron. "I walked Katniss home. Which –yeah, thank you for that," he gives Streusel a small, sheepish smile. "I got to hold her hand. And I was going to… um… see if she'd let me kiss her –"

Streusel interrupts with a wolf whistle.

" – but before I could manage it, some people threw a brick through the front window of the butcher shop and painted anti-Semitic graffiti on the side of the building," Peeta continues in a rush. "That definitely ruined the moment. As well as Herr Everdeen's shop."

Two pairs of blue eyes snap to Peeta's at his words, kneading forgotten.

Streusel takes a deep breath before speaking. His words shock Peeta. "I have been hearing rumors at the university that something like this was being planned. Some of my classmates have been very, very angry for a long time. Even angrier than your average German, if that's possible." He shakes his head, gives a mirthless laugh. "I cannot believe they actually did _this_, though. I just…" he trails off.

Peeta feels the same sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he felt last night.

"Streu… Why would anyone do this to Katniss' family? To these others? _Why_?" Peeta yells. "The Everdeens are good people. They've done nothing wrong!" He knows he's close to crying now. That his questions are rhetorical, that his brother cannot answer them.

And, of course, Streusel can't.

"Peeta, do you think you'll be speaking with Katniss again soon?" Streusel asks instead. "I don't want to assume anything… but, well, you walked her home last night, and –"

"I intend to see her as soon as I can. At school today, if possible." Peeta's days of being too afraid to talk to Katniss Everdeen are behind him. After this, he couldn't stay away from her now if he tried.

Streusel nods. "Good. When you do see her, please – let her know I am so sorry."

"I'll tell her," Peeta promises.

The room is silent once more, all three boys turning back to their work.

"So, Rye," Streusel, says to the middle Mellark brother, smirking, changing the subject so abruptly it makes Peeta's head spin, "You missed quite a party last night. Finnick brought… classified documents. Very enlightening."

Rye rolls his eyes. "Please. Who needs dirty pictures when you have an _actual_ _girl_ who's willing?"

Streusel proceeds to tease Rye about Gertrude, Rye's current girlfriend from whom he is presently inseparable. Rye responds in kind, asking Streusel who the girl of the week is this time. Before long the mood in the room is entirely changed, the original subject of conversation, apparently, forgotten.

Peeta hears a lot about his brothers' alleged romantic and sexual adventures during these early mornings in the bakery. Of course, he suspects at least half of it, maybe more, is pure fabrication. He cannot participate in these conversations, not really, aside from contributing the occasional whistle and nodding in approval at the appropriate times. But he is, after all, a teenage boy, and he rarely minds his brothers' banter. If nothing else it's amusing.

And, if he's honest about it, it's also frequently quite educational.

In spite of the voice in his head telling him he shouldn't be thinking of Katniss this way right now, not after what happened yesterday, as his brothers tease each other his mind wanders. He finds himself thinking, as he often does, about how badly he wants to hold her. To kiss her. He wants these things so much, has wanted them for so long, that his wanting is almost a tangible thing.

_Katniss_.

He closes his eyes. Shakes his head. Sighs quietly to himself. All of that can wait – forever, if necessary – if she does not want him. He tells himself that all he wants, all he needs, is for her to be safe.

* * *

She isn't in school today.

Peeta realizes this as soon as he sits down in his English class, the one hour each day he typically sees her. Her assigned seat – three rows in front of his and one over to the left – is empty.

Damnit.

It is fortunate that Peeta is good with languages. He estimates that he spends at least half this class each day in daydreams, staring at the back of Katniss' head and wondering, for example, what her beautiful dark hair might feel like between his fingers. If he struggled with English the way his friend Cato does he would never pass the course.

"_Good morning, class,_" the teacher, Ms. Schaub, sing-songs to them in her heavily-accented English when the last student has taken her seat.

"_Good morning, Ms. Schaub_", the students parrot back to her.

Peeta is not certain he can bear this today. He wonders if he should just leave school after this class and go to Katniss' house. He needs to see for herself that she is safe. He'll catch hell from his mother when she finds out about his truancy, but…

"_Mister Mellark. Can you and Mister Fielder please come to the front of the room?"_ Ms. Schaub asks.

Oh, fantastic.

Peeta and Cato walk up to the front of the class as requested. Ms. Straub then asks them to re-enact a scene in which an English visitor to Berlin stops a passerby and asks for directions to the library.

"_Vere… is… da… bibiotheque?_" Cato stammers, his forehead creased in heavy concentration.

"_No, Mister Fielder. 'Bibliotheque' is French, not English,_" Ms. Schaub corrects Cato, with poorly concealed frustration. "_Please try again_."

No. Peeta just cannot do this today, his mother be damned.

Before Cato can make a second attempt, Peeta blurts out, "_The library is around the corner and down the street,"_ in flawless English. He goes back to his seat, collects his things, and bolts from the classroom.

* * *

When he arrives at Katniss' home he finds her kneeling in front of her house, washing clothes in a large tub. Her dress sleeves are rolled up, her arms submerged up to her elbows in the soapy water.

Peeta approaches her and she looks up, startled. "Peeta! What… what are you doing here?" she asks in surprise.

He swallows, suddenly struggling with the same set of nerves that kept him from speaking to her for all those years.

But all of that is over now, he tells himself, gathering his courage.

"I just… needed to make sure you were all right," he says. "I have been worried about you ever since I left your house yesterday. And when you weren't in school today I started worrying that…" He stops and shakes his head. "Are you and your family okay?" he asks.

Katniss closes her eyes and puts her head in her hands. "Physically, we are not hurt."

Peeta breathes a sigh of relief.

She lifts her head and looks at him. "But it was so scary, Peeta. I am _still_ so scared. I know what they meant to tell us by doing this." Katniss gestures towards the shop. "I've always known that not everyone likes Jewish people, but… but I never thought…."

She begins to cry.

Peeta aches to take her into his arms and whisper reassuring words to her. But he doesn't, feeling that it would be a violation of some kind. Instead he sits down beside her and touches her arm gently.

"Katniss," he says in a low voice. "I am so sorry. I know that doesn't make this go away and that it doesn't fix anything. But I want you to know."

She turns to look at him once again, her eyes still filled with tears.

"If I could find who did this to your family and punish them for what they have done to you – if I could make certain that nothing like this ever happened to you again – I would. Please believe me," Peeta pleads.

Katniss tries to smile and says, "Thank you, Peeta."

Peeta nods and continues, "My brother wanted me to tell you that he's sorry as well."

There is a long pause before Katniss speaks again. "My uncle Haymitch is moving to America, you know. Because of things like this. He'd been hearing a lot of talk at the university here that makes him think problems for Jewish people are just going to get worse." She turns to Peeta again. "And so he is leaving. My father told me last night, after you left."

Peeta looks at her sympathetically and tells her about his conversation this morning with Streusel. He can see that Katniss is fighting back tears once more.

"Why did you stay home from school today, Katniss? Is it because you were frightened?" he asks her, gently.

She shakes her head. "No," she says. "My mother has a lot of… trouble, you could say, when life gets difficult." She closes her eyes again. "She went away last night after the attack. Not physically. She is in the house, right now. But… mentally, she went away. She isn't back yet."

Peeta doesn't know what to say.

"I needed to stay home today to take care of the house while Papa works with the other men to clean off all that horrible paint and replace the butcher shop window," Katniss continues. "I think I will be back in school tomorrow… but that depends on Mama."

"Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?" Peeta asks her. He has never felt more powerless.

"Just… just talk with me, Peeta. Be with me, here, like this. This helps," she says, simply. "Knowing that you care and that you are angry for me helps more than you know."

After another long pause she asks him, quietly, "So. Are you talking to me, now, then? Or is what happened last night – with you and me, I mean to say – never going to happen again?" She looks in his eyes.

"Yes. I am definitely talking to you now," Peeta replies. "If that's what you want," he adds, quickly. He realizes that although he confessed last night that he has been in love with her since they were in Kindergarten, he still does not know how she feels about him. If she prefers someone else's company, or no one's company at all, he would never force himself on her.

But she smiles at him, the smile reaching her eyes. "That is what I want, Peeta."

And she kisses him on the lips.

It is just a gentle press of her mouth to his and over almost as soon as it began. Peeta, however, feels as though he has been struck by lightning, feels the kiss all the way through his body, from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes.

"I…" Peeta begins, and then stops, realizing that he has absolutely no idea what he had meant to say.

They gaze at each other for another long minute before Katniss stands up and stretches.

"I need to go inside and tend to Mama, Peeta," she tells him. "But thank you for coming to see me today."

She goes inside her house and waves to him from the front door.

He stands, waves to her, and trips over the porch steps on his way to his bicycle.

* * *

He does not remember his legs ever having been quite this shaky before but, somehow, Peeta manages to get himself to the side of town where he lives.

Peeta decides to make for Streusel's flat instead of home, mostly because at this hour he is still supposed to be in school. He knows the school administrators will ultimately contact his mother and tell her he ran out of English class today… and missed all his afternoon classes besides. But he sees no need to expose himself to her wrath any earlier than absolutely necessary by going home at one in the afternoon.

He arrives at Streusel's building and knocks on the front door of his flat.

Finnick opens it, still in his nightclothes.

"Peeta!" Finnick greets him, surprised. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you in school?" he asks.

Peeta walks in without invitation. He has come here so frequently since Streusel moved out of their parents' house and into this flat he shares with Finnick it has come to feel like a second home to him. Peeta has the impression, from talking with his friends, that he is much closer with Streusel than most people are with siblings that are six years older than them. He is grateful for this. Streusel is a wonderful confidante, and he enthusiastically provides Peeta with all the older brother advice he could ever want.

In addition to providing a place to hide from their mother when he needs one.

"Nice to see you too, Finn," Peeta says, sitting down in an armchair and picking up a nearby book. "And I could ask you the same thing. Shouldn't _you_ be in school?"

"Ah, the perks of university life," Finnick grins. "All my classes are at night, and none of them are on Sunday. And answer my questions," Finnick insists. "What are you doing here? You decided not to go to school today?"

Peeta is uncomfortable explaining his actions, and the motivations behind them, to Finnick. Although Peeta enjoys his company, and thinks he is great for a laugh, this is a conversation he needs to have with Streu. He doesn't know Finnick well enough to know his political leanings or his feelings about their Jewish acquaintances.

So instead of answering, Peeta only says, with a grin so wide it threatens to split his face in half, "Katniss Everdeen kissed me today."

Finnick smirks at him, but there's affection in the expression. "Did she now. Well, well. About time. Here," Finnick says, unceremoniously handing Peeta a sack of potatoes. "If you refuse to tell me why you aren't in school today, be useful and scrub these." When Peeta gives Finnick a quizzical look, Finnick explains, "We're having _Kartoffelpuffer_ tonight."

It seems to Peeta that his brother and Finnick must have dinner parties at least three nights a week. Given the size of this potato sack, and the amount of work involved in making that particular kind of potato pancake, he assumes they are having a party tonight as well.

"Only if I get to stay for dinner," Peeta counters. He loves Streu's cooking, and their university friends are a lively group.

"I am _ever_ so sorry, young Peeta Mellark, but that will just not be possible. We are having some very special ladies over for dinner tonight," he says, cryptically. "Perhaps next week."

Peeta wonders if this means that Finnick finally managed to work up the nerve to court Annie, the girl he has been sweet on for at least the past two years.

Peeta goes to the kitchen and begins scrubbing potatoes as requested. Peeta feels he might as well; after all, Finnick _is_ doing him a favor by letting him hide here for a few hours. After a few minutes of this Finnick speaks again, in a serious tone that Peeta is quite certain he has never heard him use before. "Are Katniss and her family all right, Peeta?" he asks. "Streu told me what happened."

Peeta immediately decides that if Streu trusts Finnick enough to discuss what happened, that is good enough for him.

"She is, Finn. But she is very scared." He swallows. "I can hardly blame her."

Finnick nods. "Did she tell you whether any other Jewish families she knows had a similar thing happen to them last night? Gale's family, for example, or Sae's?"

"She didn't say anything about anyone else," Peeta replies.

"I see. Well, you were probably keeping her mouth too busy for her do much talking," Finnick says, winking.

Peeta blushes.

Finnick turns serious once more. "The newspapers will not report any of this, Peeta. The police will not involve themselves. If we want to know what's happening to our Jewish friends, it is entirely up to us to find out." He pauses, before continuing. "Please, if you hear about something like this happening to anyone else, tell me or Streu about it. Streu and I are… well."

Finnick was clearly about to say more but stops himself. "Just please let us know if you hear anything else," he says, simply.

"I will," Peeta agrees, deciding not to press further.

Peeta continues to help Finnick prepare for their dinner party for another two hours. At three o'clock he decides that he has put off the inevitable long enough. He says goodbye to Finnick and heads for home, bracing himself for what he knows is about to come.

* * *

And dinner that night goes about as Peeta had expected it would.

Helga Mellark waits until they are nearly finished eating to begin. "Peeta Mellark, where were you this afternoon?" she asks, angrily. "Fraulein Schaub came to our home today. She told me you ran out of her class. She says you did not return to school."

Peeta says nothing.

"Were you out gallivanting with your hooligan friends?" she presses. "Drinking beer? Going to a picture show?"

He tells her simply that he was checking on a friend who was in trouble.

"Katniss Everdeen?" Rye asks, with a look in his eyes that Peeta cannot identify.

Peeta closes his eyes and nods.

His mother's is silent for a long time. Her face begins to turn a deep shade of scarlet. "_No son of MINE will be associated with Jewish filth._ This is the last time I am to hear of you spending ANY time at all with… with someone like that. _DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND. ME?"_ she spits at him, through clenched teeth.

Peeta glances at his father Helmut who, as per usual during these frequent sparring matches between his sons and his wife, is staring at a spot on the far wall, providing assistance to nobody.

"Yes, mother," Peeta replies, just so that this conversation can end. He has no intention whatsoever of obeying her.

"Good," his mother replies, apparently deciding that the matter is settled. "Now clean off the table. You will be spending the rest of the evening in your room."

As he starts to bring the dishes into the kitchen he thinks to himself, at least this time she didn't hit me.

* * *

Peeta knows his mother sent him to his room so he could reflect on the day's misdeeds. He does not care what his mother wants, though, and spends several hours working on his paintings instead.

Much later, when he is in his bed, Peeta replays Katniss' kiss from earlier in the day over and over again in his head.

Her lips had been so soft, he thinks, and felt so wonderful against his own. He thinks about how beautiful she was today, even scrubbing clothes in her old housedress. Her hair had started to come loose from the physical exertion and wispy tendrils of it framed her face so delicately.

He had wanted to run his hands through that hair, to push it back behind her ear, to kiss the soft skin of her neck. He recalls the slight curve of her small breasts and how they bounced, just a little, as she did the washing. Today's kiss had been so short, so very short, but he wonders if, one day, she will give him a _real_ kiss. If one day she will let him open her mouth with his tongue, let him touch those beautiful breasts…

By this point he realizes that his hand has moved of its own volition into the waistband of his nightclothes… and down.

Peeta knows, from growing up with two older brothers, that the thoughts he has about Katniss on a regular basis are far from abnormal. Despite this, he still tries to fight the urge to touch himself like this while thinking about her. Somehow it feels ungentlemanly – immoral, even – to think about someone like that without their consent and to… to do _that_ while doing so.

This is an inner struggle that, despite his most noble attempts at gallantry, he rarely wins. And he doesn't win tonight. He finishes quickly, as he usually does, more in love with her than ever, if that is even possible.

As he falls asleep he wonders when he will be able to see her again.

* * *

_a/n. Continued thanks for all of your feedback and encouragement!_


	4. Chapter 4

_July, 1932; Frankfurt am Main_

Saturday is fourteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen's favorite day of the week.

Between school, Katniss' work and household responsibilities, and Peeta's time at the bakery, the two of them have never been busier. But ever since their first kiss – the day after the butcher shop was vandalized, when he came to the house to make certain she was safe – Peeta has structured his Saturday delivery route so that hers is his last stop of the day.

Making every Saturday afternoon _theirs_.

Of course, a few hours together every Saturday is nowhere near as much time as Katniss wants with him. But they try to make the most of what they have.

What they do together varies. Sometimes they do schoolwork. Peeta struggles with math, and Katniss helps him; after years of handling her father's books she is a natural with figures. Peeta will sometimes help Katniss with her English, particularly with some of the more difficult pronunciations. On these visits Katniss sits across from Peeta in her kitchen, books spread out in front of them, her legs twining with his under the table.

Other weeks Katniss sits with him on her porch swing, their linked hands resting on her knee, as they laugh together and talk about his cousin Delly in America, or Prim's cat Buttercup, or any of a thousand other subjects.

During one especially memorable visit Peeta asks Katniss if he can sketch her. She thinks the request strange, and she almost laughs, because everyone already knows what she looks like so why would anyone need her picture? It seems important to Peeta that she let him do this with her, though, and so she does.

They seldom kiss. Given that she is only fourteen, Papa rarely lets her stray far from his watchful eye during Peeta's weekly visits. If Katniss feels particularly daring (and if she thinks Papa is not looking) she might kiss Peeta's cheek, or perhaps give him a quick peck on the lips. Peeta, however, never initiates any kisses himself, perhaps too terrified of what her father might do if he found out.

On this particular Saturday afternoon, however, they find themselves, for once, completely alone. Katniss sits next to Peeta on the small settee in her family's sitting room, her left leg tucked underneath her, their knees touching. Neither of them has said anything for the past several moments and the quiet in the room hangs heavy between them. It is starting to unnerve her, this unnatural quiet, and Katniss turns to him to say something, anything, to break the silence, when he leans forward and kisses her.

She can tell immediately that this kiss is different from the others. This is a _real_ kiss, one that warms her up from head to toe and fills her stomach with butterflies. She doesn't know how to do this, but she knows she wants Peeta to move closer to her, and she clutches at his shoulders with both hands.

When he tentatively touches her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, she gasps in surprise before she can stop herself and he quickly pulls back, thinking he offended her. She notices that he is starting to blush. He cannot look her in the eye. She gently touches the side of his face and asks, shyly, "Can we try again?" Peeta turns to her and grins.

Never having felt this way before she cannot be certain. But Katniss wonders if she might be falling in love.

* * *

_January 30, 1933_

The first wild, fleeting thought Katniss has when the school administrators announce that Herr Adolf Hitler has just been made Chancellor of Germany – before the full horror of what has happened fully registers in her mind – is that she is glad that, at least, today is not Saturday.

It's Monday morning and she is sitting in her German history class when the announcement comes. The rest of the school day is cancelled, apparently to allow students to go home and celebrate with their families. Her teacher tells them there will be parades in downtown Berlin and Munich today in honor of this happy occasion. With a smile, Fraulein Stein encourages everyone to listen to the festivities that will be broadcast on the radio this afternoon.

Katniss collects her things in a daze and moves out into the corridor. The halls are full of milling students – some happy about the news, a few tearful, but the majority just excited to be dismissed from school early today.

She needs to find Prim. She needs to take her home.

After a few minutes of searching Katniss finds Prim leaning against the wall near her classroom, a blank look on her face. At Katniss' approach Prim looks up at her sister, silent tears beginning to form in the corners of her bright blue eyes.

"It's going to be okay, Prim," Katniss lies, not knowing what possible truth she could give her sister right now that would sooth her. She knows there isn't one, not when a man who wants to make anti-Semitism official national policy has been made Chancellor today.

The sisters walk home together in silence, hands clasped together tightly.

They are only home for ten minutes when Peeta bursts through their front door without knocking.

"KATNISS!" he shouts, his eyes frantic. He runs over to Katniss and throws his arms around her. They stand holding each other for several moments before he pulls her to the sofa, wrapping himself around her like a protective cocoon.

Peeta lets out several shuddering breaths. He tells her, over and over and over again, how much he loves her; that she's his girl, that she will _always_ be his girl; that he will protect her; that he will never, ever let anyone hurt her.

Katniss does not cry. She simply lets Peeta hold her and rock her in his arms. Ordinarily his words would thrill her to her very core. But today she only wonders, dully: _what happens now?_

* * *

_May 23, 1933 _

To Katniss' surprise, life – while greatly changed – does, in fact, go on.

And today is her fifteenth birthday.

"Blow out the candles and make a wish, _liebchen_," Papa says to her, smiling.

Katniss does as requested. When the candles on the cake flicker out, the small group gathered around the Everdeens' kitchen table applauds. Prim made her a chocolate cake, which she now cuts into small slices for the assembled Everdeens and Hawthornes.

"Happy birthday, Katniss!" Hazelle, Gale's mother, says, as she reaches for a slice.

Katniss' and Gale's families have always been close, in the way that most of the Jewish families in their part of town are. They have grown even closer in the years Gale has been working with her and her father. The families celebrate _Shabbat_ together at least once a month now and have lately begun celebrating birthdays together as well.

An hour later, cake eaten and birthday wishes extended, the Hawthorne family heads for home. Gale hangs back a moment as the rest of his family files out the front door.

"Katniss, I brought you something," he says. He hands her a package, carefully wrapped in brown paper and tied up with a green ribbon.

Katniss is surprised. She did not expect birthday presents this year. Even if she were not too old for such things – which she is – Gale knows as well as she does how precarious the butcher shop's financial situation is at present. Now that… _that_ _man_ (she will not say his name out loud, even five months later) is in charge of Germany, fewer and fewer customers are coming to their shop every week. What's worse, official government-sponsored boycotts of Jewish-owned businesses are being threatened all the time. Attacks against Jewish businesses like the one her family suffered last winter are becoming increasingly common, the police turning a blind eye to all of it.

The Everdeens rely exclusively on the butcher shop's profits for their survival. As Gale is essentially a full-time employee now, this is becoming increasingly true for the Hawthornes as well. There is simply no extra money for frivolous things – like birthday presents for girls who are nearly grown.

"Gale," Katniss says, warningly, "you should not have done this."

Gale shrugs. "I wanted to. And I know what you're worried about – but don't be. I made it." He gives her a small smile.

She still feels he should not have gone to the trouble. "Thank you, Gale," she says instead.

"Well go on, then. Open it," he insists.

Katniss carefully undoes the wrapping. Inside the box she discovers a small wooden bow. And she is shocked speechless.

She thinks back to last semester's physical education class when her class spent ten weeks learning about archery. At first she had thought the lessons silly. When were a group of urban Frankfurt children ever going to have need of archery skills? But as it happened, she had never enjoyed anything in school quite so well. It was clear to everyone by the end of the ten weeks – to teachers, to students, even to herself – that she was a natural at the sport.

The bow is clearly handmade, and Gale obviously made it himself, just as he claimed. This must have taken Gale _weeks_. She doesn't know how to even begin to thank him.

"Gale, this is… this is amazing. I love it." She swallows. "Thank you so much." She reaches out and touches his arm.

He clears his throat and says, "Happy birthday, Katniss," his voice strange, before following his family out the door.

* * *

Later that day, Katniss is in her room getting ready for the special dinner that Peeta is preparing for her birthday. She glances at her reflection in the small looking glass that hangs over the bureau she shares with Prim. Deciding her hair to be a veritable rat's nest, she grabs a hairbrush from the bureau and quickly runs it through her hair.

Prim sits at the desk, leafing through her chemistry schoolbook. "Are you going to wear your sunset dress?" This is the nickname Prim has given to a muted orange, broad-shouldered dress that Katniss made for herself last season. It is inarguably the most fashionable item of clothing she owns – although given the state of the rest of her wardrobe that is not saying much. She has never had a suitable occasion to wear it so it has hung in the closet for months.

In truth, before Prim asked this question Katniss had not given a moment's thought to what she might wear tonight. _I have never been a normal girl_, Katniss thinks to herself resignedly, and not for the first time. "I think I will, Prim," she says, taking the dress off its hanger, deciding there is no reason not to.

Prim gives Katniss a nod of approval after she puts the dress on. "Peeta is going to love it," she says, smiling.

Katniss smiles too, happy, as she always is, when she thinks of making Peeta happy, when she realizes that _she_ makes Peeta happy.

"He's a wonderful boy, Katniss," Prim says. "You are very lucky."

Katniss smiles again and says, "I know."

Prim turns back to her studies, and Katniss begins to fasten a necklace Mama gave her earlier in the day for her birthday. When Katniss began to protest Mama insisted that it had belonged to Nana, and that Nana had always wanted Katniss to have it when she was old enough.

After a few more minutes of fussing with her hair Katniss decides she is as ready for this evening as she will ever be. Before leaving their room Katniss bends over to kiss Prim on the cheek. She ruffles her blonde curls and promises not to wake her when she comes home this evening.

Katniss finds Papa waiting for her by the door. He gives her his arm and they begin the short walk to the bus stop.

"I know you have been looking forward to this evening for a long time, _liebchen_," Papa tells her. "But I am worried."

Katniss sighs in frustration. She knows that it is more dangerous than ever for a young Jewish woman to be walking the streets of Frankfurt by herself at night. But they've already discussed this.

"Papa, everything will be _fine_," she attempts to reassure him for what must be the tenth time. "I will not be alone for a moment tonight. You are walking me to the bus stop. Peeta will be waiting for me when I get off the bus. He and I will walk, together, to his brother's flat – where, where there will be several adult chaperones," she adds, hastily, starting to blush. "And after dinner is over Peeta will see me safely home." She doesn't know what more she can say to put his mind at ease.

Papa shakes his head. "It's true. I am still worried about your physical safety tonight. But that is not what I'm referring to now."

Katniss does not understand.

"What worries me most of all, _liebchen_, is that you seem to have chosen a young man who is… so very different from you. From us," he explains. "And what that might mean for your future."

Now she understands what Papa is saying. He is telling her that because Peeta is not Jewish, she should not choose him. And she is horrified. Furious. She wants to scream at Papa, call him a hypocrite. She thinks, _Mama's own father_ was not Jewish, and was as blond-haired and blue-eyed as Peeta himself!

And how _dare_ Papa rail against the current government one moment and then, in the next moment, say he does not like Peeta solely because of who and what he is?

Katniss wants to say all of this to Papa, to shout at him until he understands. But she has trouble expressing herself with words even when at her level-headed best. And she is a dutiful daughter who would never speak to Papa that way. So she says only, but as forcefully as she can, "Peeta is a good man, Papa."

"I know he is a good man, Katniss. I know," he reassures her quickly. "Although… I would say he is still a boy, really. Not quite a man just yet." He gives her a sad smile. "But yes – Peeta Mellark is without question very good."

He pauses before continuing, in a quiet voice, "But Germany is no longer run by people who are good, _liebchen_."

Another pause. "I don't have to tell you that life is going to be much harder for us now, Katniss. Now thatthe government is what it is." Papa shakes his head. "And for you especially, being a young woman. I want you to be happy, _liebchen_, to be able to choose whomever you wish for a husband, when the time comes for you to marry. But we live in a very different time from when Nana married your grandfather."

Papa turns to her and reaches out to touch her cheek. "I just don't want to see you make choices that will make your life even more difficult than it will already be."

Katniss doesn't know how to respond.

"Papa…" she begins, but trails off.

At that moment her bus arrives.

"But I will never tell you what to do, Katniss," he promises her, sadly. He kisses her cheek.

Katniss returns the kiss and, her heart heavy, boards the bus that will take her to Peeta.

* * *

It is not terribly far from Katniss' house to Streusel's flat in terms of mileage. A motorcar could manage the distance in fifteen minutes, she thinks. But this bus takes a circuitous route and Katniss knows she will not see Peeta for another hour.

As watches Frankfurt rush by outside her window she is struck by how unchanged everything looks. She can see people shopping, visiting friends, laughing, hanging up the washing – generally going about the business of living. It never ceases to surprise Katniss how much has remained the same in light of what is happening in their country.

But of course, not everything looks the same. The bus eventually brings Katniss through the part of town where the government officials live. And she sees the house where her friend Madge Undersee lived until she and her family emigrated to Austria last month. Instead of the flag of the Weimar Republic that had flown at the Mayor's house Katniss' entire life, the current Mayor of Frankfurt displays a flag with a horrible, angry-looking spidery design that people call a "swastika." It is the symbol of the Nazi Party, now in control of the German government.

The Undersees were forced to move when Chancellor Hitler's new government sacked all Jewish teachers at the universities and the public schools, just a few short months after Hitler took power. Madge's father refused to have any part in carrying out these orders and so he, himself, was sacked, and immediately replaced with a Mayor more loyal to the Nazi Party and to Chancellor Hitler.

After this happened, Herr Undersee decided it was no longer safe for his family to stay in Germany. And so they left one day, in the middle of the night. Madge has sent Katniss letters since arriving in Salzburg but the girls never got to say goodbye in person. Katniss wonders, sadly, if she will ever see her friend again.

Katniss does not want to think about the conversation she just had with Papa. She tries to find ways to distract herself from that subject, tries to focus instead on how excited she is about tonight's dinner. But thinking about tonight leads, inevitably, to thinking about Peeta, which in turn leads to thinking about how much she cares for him. How she cannot imagine life without him. How she does not _want_ a life without him.

Katniss cannot understand why Papa thinks that choosing a life with Peeta would make things more difficult for her. Peeta abhors the Nazis, and Chancellor Hitler, just as much as she does. She would _never_ have to worry that Peeta would hurt her. The very thought of him hurting her is completely unfathomable.

True, she suspects that Peeta's family, minus Streusel of course, might harbor anti-Semitic views. (Peeta has never once had Katniss over to his house in the year they have been together; she has never asked the reason, and he has never offered it, but she is fairly certain she already knows what it is.) But Peeta is not his family. He is a good man – or a good boy, anyway. He is the kindest, gentlest, most compassionate person she has ever met. And he has vowed that he will always protect her from anyone who might want to hurt her. She believes him with all her heart.

Papa clearly does not understand this, and Katniss does not have the words to explain. But the simple truth is, choosing a life without Peeta is just not an option.

* * *

At last, the bus approaches the stop near Streusel's flat. Katniss pulls on the cord above her seat and the driver brings the vehicle to a stop.

She exits the bus and sees Peeta already waiting for her, nervously wringing his hands together. Katniss notices that he is wearing his best shirt.

She greets him with a kiss. He's grown at least four inches this past year and she needs to stand on her toes, now, to reach his cheek.

He smiles down at her and asks, "Are you ready?"

She takes his hand and smiles back at him. "Let's go," she says.

It seems like Peeta has been planning tonight's dinner for ages. Ever since they began spending their Saturdays together, really. Peeta loves to cook and he's told Katniss countless times that he has always wanted to prepare a special meal for the two of them to share together.

Of course, given that they are both just teenagers and live in homes where they don't exactly have free reign of the kitchen, it took a considerable amount of time for Peeta to devise a way to make this happen. It took a lot of pleading (and perhaps even some bribery), but Peeta finally managed to convince Streusel to let him use his flat tonight to make a birthday dinner for Katniss.

As it turns out, Streusel is holding a dinner party of his own tonight as well. Peeta looked absolutely crestfallen when he told Katniss about this development last week. Whether Streu's dinner party had already been planned when he told Peeta he could use the flat for Katniss' birthday dinner, or whether Streu's dinner party was being held for the sole purpose of torturing his younger brother, Katniss does not know.

Either way, Katniss is determined to focus on the bright side of the situation, which is that the presence of four adults at tonight's event made Papa much, much more agreeable to letting her spend the evening with Peeta. Besides, given that she and Peeta are in Streusel's debt for letting them use his flat tonight in the first place, she knows they have no right to complain.

All of that said, Katniss also knows that this is hardly going to be the evening she and Peeta had originally thought they would have, and she cannot help but be just as disappointed as Peeta is.

Streusel's and Finnick's flat is a short ten minute walk from where the bus let Katniss off. When they enter the home Katniss notices that they are the last to arrive. Seated at the kitchen table are Streu and Finnick, both of whom Katniss has met on a number of occasions. Across from them sit two girls, Annie and Johanna. Annie is a dreamy-eyed girl who, Peeta insists, Finnick hopes to marry someday. Johanna, in contrast, does not appear to be attached to anyone, even though she must be at least twenty years old. Johanna is easily the most unladylike girl Katniss has ever met in her life. She swears like a man and dresses like one too a lot of the time. Tonight, Katniss notices, Johanna is even wearing _pants_.

Even though Katniss has only met these girls on a few occasions she already knows she likes Annie very much. She is frankly too frightened of Johanna to be able to decide whether or not she likes her.

"Hello, you two!" Streu looks up from his beer and grins at Katniss and Peeta as they enter his home. His three friends look up as well.

"Hi, Streu. Finnick, Annie, Johanna," Peeta nods at each of them, briefly, trying not to be overly curt but clearly wanting this interaction to be over as quickly as possible.

"Don't worry, Peeta, dear. We'll leave you alone tonight. We promise," Annie says very kindly, smiling her dreamy smile at the two of them. As if to prove her point she and her three friends immediately turn back to their beers and to the conversation they were apparently having before Katniss and Peeta arrived.

Katniss hears Peeta give a small sigh of relief (which causes her to have to stifle a giggle, in spite of herself) as he pulls her by the hand into the adjoining sitting room. There, to her surprise, is a small table for two set up in front of the fireplace. There is a white linen tablecloth spread over it and in the middle sits a small vase containing a single chrysanthemum.

"I know how much you hate roses," Peeta says, gesturing to the vase. "So I thought I would try something more unconventional."

"It's perfect, Peeta," Katniss says. And she means it.

Peeta smiles at her and says, "You look… absolutely beautiful tonight, Katniss. Your hair… and, and that dress…" he trails off. He looks at her, and she can tell he is trying as hard as he possibly can to keep his eyes trained on her face. "I've never seen that dress before."

"I've never had an occasion nice enough to wear it before now," she explains.

"You should wear it more often. All the time, in fact." He begins to blush. "It… it suits you."

She gives him a gentle kiss on the lips.

After a moment he pulls away from her and clears his throat. "So. Would you like your birthday dinner to start now?"

Just then, as if on cue, Katniss' stomach growls. She looks up at him and rolls her eyes, embarrassed.

Peeta chuckles. He motions at her to have a seat at the table and he heads into the kitchen for their first course.

* * *

Katniss is quite certain she has never had a better – or bigger – meal.

It starts off with a basket of freshly-baked cheese buns. They are Katniss' favorite and she eats three. Later, she realizes that that was a mistake. Because after the cheese buns comes the vegetable soup. Following that course comes the veal, and then the schnitzel… and on and on and on, and all of it absolutely _delicious_, until Katniss leans back in her chair and announces to Peeta that she simply cannot manage another bite.

"No room for dessert, then?" Peeta asks, innocently, seated across from her.

Katniss only moans in response.

Peeta laughs. "Why don't we wait a bit for dessert, then."

Katniss moves her chair over to Peeta's side of the table and rests her head on his shoulder. "Peeta, this was the most delicious meal I have ever eaten," she says, with complete sincerity. "Thank you so much for doing all of this for me. I loved it. All of it."

He looks down at her and says, in a quiet voice, "It was my pleasure, Katniss."

She closes her eyes and nuzzles her face into his neck. He puts his arm around her, pulling her close.

"You know," he continues, slowly, "I think about making you dinners a lot. I mean…" he trails off. Fidgets with his napkin. "I mean, sometimes I like to imagine a time when maybe I'll get to make you dinner every night." He pauses again, then chuckles a little. "And not at Streusel's flat."

Katniss thinks she knows what Peeta is trying to say. And it makes her heart leap into her throat.

"I… I would like that very much," she admits quietly. She feels his arm tighten around her. "But wouldn't you… wouldn't you want me to cook for you sometimes, too? I mean, I'd be your…"

She stops talking abruptly, shocked at what she was about to say. _I'd be your… wife._

He turns to face her with a look in his eyes she has never seen before. "Only if you wanted to," is all he says, before he bends to kiss her.

They kiss each other for what feels like a very long time. She winds her arms around his neck as he cups her face. She thinks he is about to deepen the kiss – she know she wants him to, anyway – when she hears a loud knock on the door.

"Oh! Excuuuuuse me!" Finnick says, poking his head into the sitting room, voice full of mock surprise. "Am I interrupting something?"

Katniss breaks off the kiss, startled. She turns to look at Finnick and she can tell she is blushing.

"What do you _want_, Finn?" Peeta asks the older boy through clenched teeth. Katniss has never seen him look so murderous.

"We were just wondering if you two wanted to join us in a game of bridge," Finnick explains. "You don't have to, of course. But we wanted to be sociable. Unlike some people," he winks at Peeta.

Katniss wishes Finnick had not interrupted her moment with Peeta. But unfortunately, the moment is now officially unsalvageable.

And she does enjoy a good game of bridge.

She turns to Peeta and says, "Well, why not?"

Peeta looks like there is nothing he would rather do less – in truth, he is a poor bridge player, finding most games that involve counting and strategizing difficult – but he reluctantly agrees, perhaps because he, like Katniss, is not ready for the evening to be over just yet.

Katniss stands up from the table and turns to face Peeta. She extends her hand to him. "Shall we go, then?"

He takes her hand and says, somewhat resignedly, "Sure. Let's join the others."

* * *

Katniss isn't sure why exactly, but she finds it difficult to focus on the game.

It might be the fact that she is drinking beer while playing. True, she is not drinking very much beer; two hands in and she is still on her first pint. But beer is not something she has often, and as a result she does not need to drink very much of it for her head to get foggy and her vision blurry.

It might also be the fact that Streusel and his friends are talking about politics this evening. Streusel and Finnick have a passionate interest in the present state of the German government. To tell the truth, it's one of the things she likes best about them. But Katniss does often find it hard to focus on much of anything else when people are discussing German politics.

When Katniss really thinks about it, though, she realizes that the primary reason she cannot focus on the game must have to do with the antics of her bridge partner. Half a pint in, Peeta apparently made up his mind that they had no chance of winning the present trick – or any trick at all, for that matter – and decided to give up any pretense of trying.

Since making that decision Peeta has been staring at Katniss unabashedly, rubbing her knee, caressing her back. Whispering in her ear how beautiful she looks tonight. Peeta's behavior is attracting a lot of attention from his older brother and his friends, as well as some raised eyebrows and snickers. He does not seem to care. For that matter, and much to her surprise, neither does Katniss.

After about twenty minutes of this sort of behavior Peeta whispers something else into Katniss' ear. "Let's get you home."

Katniss isn't sure she wants to go home just yet but she realizes, very suddenly, that she _does_ want to leave this room. Right now, in fact.

She stands up abruptly, right in the middle of a trick, thanks everyone for a lovely evening, and announces that it is very late and she needs to be heading home.

Katniss makes for the front door. Peeta follows right behind her. When they step outside she can hear the room behind them erupt into raucous laughter.

But Katniss is past caring, because no sooner has the door closed behind them then Peeta is backing her against the wall of the building and kissing her like he has never kissed her before.

Peeta's kisses are usually slow and gentle. But this is not gentle. He quickly deepens the kiss with his tongue, tangling it needfully with her own. She whimpers into his mouth, for the first time in her life, and curls her hands into fists in his hair. He moves to kiss her jaw, down her neck, across her exposed collarbone. His kisses become frantic, are wet and sloppy, his tongue tracing patterns on her skin.

And Katniss is reveling in the attack. Her heart is pounding. She has never felt like this before in her life. She never wants Peeta to stop, she never wants this to end. Before she can stop herself or think about what she is doing she wraps her arms around his lower back and pulls him even closer to her. Now it's his turn to whimper.

Suddenly, Katniss feels a hardness pressing against her stomach. And it snaps her out of her reverie. She is fairly certain she knows what this hardness is and what it means. A small part of her is frightened, thinks she is far too young to be doing this, to be drawing this kind of reaction from Peeta. Another part of her feels guilt, thinks that this is not something she should be doing until she is married.

She wonders, briefly, if they should stop. Before she has made up her mind, Peeta pulls away from her, panting heavily.

"Katniss…" he says, between pants. "I think… I think I need to… to stop."

Katniss says nothing.

"I don't _want_ to stop," he clarifies. "But… but I think I… I think I need to."

Katniss leans forward and kisses his cheek. "All right," she says simply, trying not to let the disappointment she feels overtake her.

He gazes at her for a few more moments as his breathing slowly returns to normal. "Katniss," he says quietly. "I love you. So much."

She wants to say the words back to him. But she is so overcome by emotion that the words stick in her throat. Instead, she takes his hand, kisses the palm, and places it over her heart, hoping he understands.

He smiles down at her and kisses her forehead. "Let's get you home."

* * *

_a/n – I hope you enjoyed the fluffiness in this chapter. Unfortunately, things get a lot darker from here. It's just unavoidable._

_I am now officially looking for a beta who knows more about German history during this period than I do. I have no illusions that I can make this fic 100% historically accurate. I simply lack the time. But I do want to come as close as I can, and not make any huge mistakes. So if any of you history buffs out there are interested in reviewing some of my future chapters before I post them send me a p.m. I would be forever in your debt. _

_Finally (and most importantly) - Thank you again, so much, for all of your kind reviews! You are the best._


	5. Chapter 5

_August, 1938; Brooklyn, New York_

_In the end, Haymitch manages about two hours of sleep. Just enough to keep him from falling over during his lecture; nowhere near enough to make him feel human._

_He walks into his kitchen and pours himself some coffee Effie just made. She sits at the table now, all done-up face and garish clothes, even at seven in the morning on a Tuesday._

"_Good morning, Haymitch!" she beams at him. "Aren't you excited? Today is going to be a big, big day!"_

_He knows that he has about as much in common with Effie Trinket as he does with most other thirty-five year old American girls. Which is to say, they have nothing in common at all. Despite that, on most days he is grateful for her company, and for her uncanny ability to help him forget. _

_But now, more than anything, he is grateful for her help. He doesn't know the first thing about females – especially _young_ females – or about what an apartment needs before it is ready for one to take up residence. _

_But if there's anything Effie is an expert on it is those specific topics. Over the past two months he has delegated most of the preparations to her. He cannot begin to express how grateful he is for her willingness – eagerness, even – to take all that on._

_He says none of this to her this morning, though. Instead, he tells her another truth. "Eff, all I can think about are the people who _won't_ be on that boat this afternoon."_

* * *

_August, 1933; Frankfurt am Main_

It's early on a Saturday morning and Peeta is in the bakery with Rye, loading up his bicycle for the weekly deliveries.

Streusel is not with them today. For the first time since Peeta was five years old he is preparing to make his deliveries without his oldest brother alongside him. Two weeks ago Streu started a new job, working twenty hours per week at a local government office doing… something. In truth, Peeta is not entirely certain what Streu does now. Whatever it is, though, between Streu's new job and his university classes he is far too busy to continue working for the family business.

This change means Peeta will not be seeing Streu very often anymore, which makes him sad. He also knows, though, that Mellark's Bakery has had less business than usual lately. It seems to Peeta that work has been slow in recent months for everyone he knows. There simply is not enough bakery work these days to keep all three brothers busy. Peeta is fairly certain that this is the real reason why his parents did not protest when Streusel told them he was leaving.

One side benefit to the reduction in business, of course, is that Peeta should be done with his deliveries by noon today. Which means he will have even more time than usual to spend with Katniss.

He tries, but mostly fails, to keep the stupid grin off his face in front of Rye.

When Peeta finishes securing his packages he turns to his brother and asks, "Ready for breakfast?"

"I'll be there in a few minutes. Just a few more loaves to wrap up."

Peeta walks next door and joins his parents, who have already begun eating, at the kitchen table. His mother made bacon and eggs this morning and Peeta is, as usual, starving. He scoops up a huge pile of eggs from the skillet and begins to shovel the food into his mouth in the way of fifteen year old boys everywhere.

"What are you and Cato planning this afternoon, Peeta?" Father asks pleasantly.

(Cato – blond-haired, blue-eyed, unequivocally German and completely unobjectionable Cato – has been Peeta's alibi for more than a year to explain his absence from home every Saturday afternoon.)

"We're going to the lake down in _Stadtwald_, I think. Maybe do some fishing. It's going to be a warm day so we might go swimming as well." If one substitutes _Cato_ for _Katniss_ it isn't a lie, Peeta thinks to himself.

His mother scoffs in disbelief. "You? Fishing? The last time you went fishing you snared your lip with the hook. We had to pay the doctor fifty _marks_ to sew you up."

Peeta has nothing to say in response to his mother's barb. Mostly because she is right. In fact, on his way home from that particular trip to the doctor Peeta vowed to never fish again. If Katniss hadn't been the one to suggest this afternoon's activity he is quite certain it would have been a vow he'd have kept his entire life.

But Peeta isn't certain he will ever be capable of denying Katniss Everdeen anything she wants. Including, apparently, risking life and limb with a fish hook.

"I'll be more careful this time," is all Peeta says.

"Good," his mother says. "Because this time you'll be paying for any stitches out of your own money."

The three Mellarks continue eating in silence for a few minutes. Rye eventually joins them and takes the empty seat next to Peeta.

"Helmut, now that the boys are here I want to discuss those changes to the business I mentioned yesterday," their mother says as Rye begins eating.

Father sighs. "Helga…" he begins.

"Don't _Helga_ me!" she shrieks at him. "Our business has never been worse – you know it hasn't. And we both know the reason why."

Peeta and Rye look up from their plates at their mother.

"Helga, look. You do _not_ know—"

She does not let Father continue. "We are the ONLY bakery on this side of Frankfurt that still does business with those filthy, conniving Jews. And because of it, all the good German customers are taking their business elsewhere." She takes a sip of her coffee. "Not only that, but those _Jews_ are constantly trying to steal from us and pay us less than our bread is worth. You know that as well as I do, Helmut."

As it happens, Peeta knows all of his mother's claims to be patently false.

Father, in apparent agreement with Peeta's unvoiced thoughts, shakes his head to disagree. "Helga –"

"Listen to me for once!" she interrupts him again. "I insist that we stop dealing with _those people_." She spits out the words. "It's the only way our business – our family – will survive." She stabs a bite of eggs with her fork definitively, apparently deciding that she has said everything she had planned to say.

Peeta has heard some version of this diatribe from his mother almost every single week for as long as he can remember. To his knowledge, none of the three Mellark boys has ever engaged in these discussions with her. His own primary reason for avoiding doing so, even though he could not possibly be more against the idea of refusing to deal with Jewish customers, is that in matters of business at least, his mother actually always defers to his father. And Father, to his great credit, has always consistently refused to go along with his mother's wishes in this regard even without Peeta lending his support. He knows that he can rely on Father to always stand up to his mother on this one issue.

Furthermore, Peeta knows that while forcibly opposing her would never change his mother's mind about anything at all, it certainly could earn him a beating. Even now, at age fifteen, when he stands six inches taller than her. Because she knows he would never hit her back.

"Our Jewish customers pay us every bit as much for the bread we sell them as anyone else." Father says, as forcefully as he can. "And turning away paying customers at a time when business is slow is completely nonsensical. I won't do it."

And the conversation – for now – is over.

* * *

The boys finish their breakfasts and make their way back to the bakery.

After they mount their bicycles but before they start their separate delivery routes, Rye says to his younger brother, "Peeta – have fun with _Cato_ this afternoon." He puts strong emphasis on Cato's name and gives Peeta a pointed look.

"Um, thanks Rye," Peeta says quickly – probably too quickly – and makes to leave on his bicycle.

"Peeta, stop," Rye says. Peeta turns to look at him. "Look. I know, okay? About you and Katniss. I think everyone knows."

Rye pauses briefly. "Everyone except Mother, I mean," he adds, probably attempting to be reassuring. "But I do think Mother might be the only person in Frankfurt who honestly still believes you are spending every Saturday afternoon with Cato Fielder."

Peeta doesn't know what to say.

"I don't like the Everdeens, Peeta. Or any of their kind, really," Rye admits. He can't look Peeta in the eye as he says this. "Not that I agree with Mother that we should stop selling to them, of course," he adds hastily, as if this could possibly make his admission of anti-Semitism more palatable to his younger brother.

"But I do like you, obviously," Rye continues. "I want you to be happy. And I am sure I do not have to tell you that if Mother finds out about what you've been doing this past year, and lying to her about it, she will make your life an absolute hell. Possibly Katniss' too if she can find a way to manage it."

Peeta thought he had successfully kept his love for Katniss a secret from his mother, from everyone in his family except for Streu. From everyone who he thought harbored ill-will towards her, her family, her people. Apparently he was wrong.

"Rye, I love her," he admits. At this point, why not? Rye already knows, he as good as said so. "I hope to marry her someday, when we're older." Might as well tell him everything. "What would you have me do? Turn my back on her? Stop seeing her?"

"Yes," Rye says, bluntly. "That's exactly what you should do. Find another girl, a nice German girl. Get over Katniss as quickly as possible. You are only fifteen years old, you know – it shouldn't be that hard." He shakes his head. "Even if Mother never finds out about what you're doing this cannot possibly end well for you."

"Rye. I _can't_ leave her." His brother is asking him to do the unthinkable.

Rye takes a deep breath. Lets it out. "In that case, for both of your sakes, you need to find a better alibi than Cato." Rye gives his younger brother a wry smirk. "He comes by the bakery all the time on Saturday afternoons, you know. Always seems to forget he's supposed to be with you."

Peeta feels as though he's been punched in the stomach. He is at a complete loss for words.

"Anyway. It's time to get this bread delivered. I'll see you at dinner, Peeta," Rye says, and then peddles away on his bicycle.

* * *

Peeta finds Katniss already waiting for him by the little lake in the wooded _Stadtwald_ when he arrives. She is sitting under a shady old tree on a large quilt spread on the ground, laying out their picnic. The tree-dappled sunlight glints beautifully off her long, dark hair.

The low mood Peeta has been in ever since his conversation with Rye simply melts away at the very sight of her.

"Hello," he greets her as he approaches, kissing the top of her head.

"Hello," Katniss says in return, smiling up at him. "Are you hungry?"

He grins. "Of course."

"Good. I brought loads of food." She gestures to the cold sliced brisket, apples, carrots, and cake, all carefully arranged next to a brown wicker picnic basket. "Let's get our fishing lines set up and then eat."

"Good idea. Yes. Let's get our fishing lines set up first." Peeta tries to look cheerful as he says this, but based on the smile she tries to hide in her palm at his words he thinks he might actually be grimacing.

They walk to the edge of the lake and she hands Peeta the fishing equipment she brought for him. He holds on to it all awkwardly, having absolutely no idea what he is supposed to _do_ with these objects. He watches Katniss assemble her own fishing pole with ease, in awe, as he always is whenever he bears witness to her brilliant mechanical reasoning.

Peeta tries not to let his eyes linger too long on the way her tongue just peeks out of the corner of her mouth as she deftly threads her hook through the wriggling live bait.

Casting her line so far out into the water that he can barely make out where the end breaks the surface, she turns to him and says, "Now you."

Peeta looks at the unassembled fishing gear in his hands for a few moments. Then back at Katniss.

"Um…" he begins, helplessly.

She laughs at him then – not unkindly – and takes it from him. In a matter of seconds his pole is assembled as well, the end cast out into the rippling water. Katniss secures the ends of both fishing lines against a large nearby rock, to keep them steady while they eat.

She takes his hand. "Ready for lunch?" she asks him.

He smiles back at her and nods.

And the food is delicious.

Peeta is happy, full, and a little sleepy, enjoying both the company and the sunshine. Katniss is lying on her back across the quilt now, her legs crossed at her ankles, using his lap for a pillow.

She is reading to him from the letter she received yesterday from her Uncle Haymitch in New York. Or trying to read to him, rather. Herr Abernathy writes his niece dutifully once every month – but always in English. Of course, Katniss stubbornly writes back to him in German, every single time, hoping he will eventually understand that German is the only language with which she feels comfortable.

But Herr Abernathy either does not notice her veiled hint, or else he notices but does not care.

Katniss always shares these letters with Peeta. He knows it isn't just because she needs his help to read them, although that is certainly part of it. Peeta knows how important Katniss' Uncle Haymitch is to her and how much she misses him. And she wants to share what she has left of her uncle with him.

Peeta finds today's letter particularly amusing, although he can tell that Katniss does not. Herr Abernathy has apparently recently taken up with a young American girl named Effie Trinket. According to the letter, Effie is the secretary to one of his colleagues in NYU's history department. Herr Abernathy spends much of the letter outwardly mocking the girl, but Peeta's English borders on fluency. And he is able to infer, based on what her uncle is _not_ saying, that he actually feels a great deal of affection for her.

"She is only thirty years old," Katniss spits out, tossing the letter to the side when she and Peeta have finished reading it. "And she sounds a complete fool. He clearly hates her."

Peeta chuckles a little. "Well, he must like her at least a little, else he wouldn't be spending his time with her." He leans down to kiss her forehead. "Maybe Effie keeps him from getting lonely. Or from missing home too much."

Katniss only scowls in response.

"Uncle Haymitch still wants my family to join him in New York," she finally says, very quietly, changing the subject.

"I know," Peeta replies. Herr Abernathy mentions this in more letters than not. "How do you feel about that, Katniss? Moving to America, with your family?"

He knows how difficult life has become here for the Everdeens over the past several years. And he knows that Chancellor Hitler is doing everything he can to consolidate his power and crush all political opposition. If Hitler manages to seize complete control of the German government like he intends, things will only get worse for Katniss and her family.

Peeta knows without question that a life in America could be better for the Everdeens in so many ways. Perhaps in America Katniss could find even find a boy who wasn't too afraid of a beating to introduce her to his family, he thinks bitterly to himself. But the thought of her moving away from him, across the ocean – to a place where he would never see her again – fills him with dread. He knows it is selfish to feel this way. In truth, he hates himself for feeling this way. But in spite of himself he cannot help but hope that the Everdeens never do comply with Herr Abernathy's wishes.

"Germany is our home," is all Katniss says by way of reply, clearly intending for the conversation to be over. Perhaps regretting her decision to bring it up in the first place.

Peeta curses himself for the joy he feels at her words.

They are quiet for a long time after that. Peeta begins to idly play with Katniss' hair, her head still resting in his lap. He gently winds strands of her long hair around his fingers, marveling in its lustrous softness.

"I'm going to go check the fishing lines," Katniss eventually says, yawning. She stands from her reclining position and stretches languidly. She walks down to the shore and tugs on the fishing wires briefly. She frowns when she sees they have caught nothing today – seems actually quite despondent about it, which surprises Peeta, who all along had assumed today's fishing adventure was nothing more than whimsy. He never anticipated them actually _catching_ anything. In fact, he can't imagine there is much of anything at all living in this tiny lake in the middle of the city.

She returns to him and says, sighing, "It looks like there won't be anything to bring home from the lake today." She shrugs, and then says, "Let's go swimming now, okay?"

Katniss quickly reaches down and pulls off her dress in one fluid motion, and before Peeta even knows what has happened she is standing before him wearing almost nothing at all.

_Oh… god…_

All this time, under her sundress, Katniss had been wearing one of those modern swimming suits Peeta has seen a few times in those silly French fashion magazines that his mother always has lying about. He is trying not to gawk – he is trying, he _swears_ – but her arms, shoulders, neck, most of her back, and legs are now completely bare, the rest of her covered only with a tight-fitting, pale cream-colored fabric that contrasts tantalizingly with her olive complexion and accentuates her slender curves in a way he never dreamed a scrap of fabric could.

She tosses her long, beautiful hair over her bare right shoulder and Peeta knows it's only a brief matter of time before his body betrays him and he… _reacts…_ to Katniss' beauty in a way that will be completely obvious to her in the bright light of day.

He briefly thinks back to that night at Streusel's flat and how scared she seemed when she felt him pressed up against her belly. In a desperate attempt to avoid shaming himself a second time, Peeta tugs off his shirt and pants as quickly as he can and practically sprints into the water, up to his waist, wearing only his undershorts.

Leaving Katniss standing by herself, and looking very perplexed, back on the shore.

"Peeta! Why didn't you wait for me?" she pouts at him, hands on her hips.

(As it happens, the way her lips look right now, the way they are pursed together like that, convinces Peeta beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had almost waited _too long_ to jump into the water.)

"I just… I just couldn't wait to get in here," he says, lamely. "It's such a hot day."

She laughs at him and walks into the lake, step by step, until she is standing next to him. In truth, it is a very warm day, and the cool water feels good on his skin. He has never been much of a swimmer but they splash around for some time, chasing each other in the shallow pool and laughing.

Eventually they find themselves next to each other, floating on their backs, staring up at the blue sky, fingertips touching. She turns her head slightly to look at him and says, "Peeta," in a quiet voice.

He stops floating. Puts his feet on the floor of the lake. He looks at her. "Hm?"

"Kiss me."

Ever since the night of her birthday Peeta has been very reticent with his kisses. He feels like he overstepped some boundary that night – that he attacked her, really, with how aggressively he touched and kissed her – and he is terrified that if he kisses her too often, or too passionately, his mind will once again lose the battle it now seems perpetually locked in with his traitorous body.

They do still kiss, of course, but they are chaste little kisses. The way their kisses were back when they were first getting to know one another. And they are always over far more quickly than Peeta would truly like.

But seeing Katniss now, like this, her beautiful, half-naked body floating in the water, her dark hair spread out around her like a corona, hearing her ask him to kiss her, his resolve crumbles into dust and floats away on the waves.

At her words, Peeta places one hand on either side of her and stands her up in the water. He bends down and kisses her on the mouth.

And this time, she is the aggressor.

Within seconds, her arms have wound up and around his neck and she presses her body tightly against his. He cannot help but moan softly at the feel of her wet body against his as he wraps his own arms around the small of her back. Their kisses quickly become open-mouthed, and she slips her tongue into his mouth, searching hungrily for his own. And he just can't help but eagerly meet her tongue with his, he _can't_ help it, not here, like this, with her surrounding him, inside his every pore and every fiber of his being.

He knows that she can feel him now, all of him, pressed against her, the way she could on her birthday. But this time she does not seem to care. And he is past caring himself.

As they kiss and twine together in the water he thinks of how desperately he wants to touch her beautiful breasts. He can see the outlines of her small, pebbled nipples straining under the taut fabric of her swimming suit, he can feel them poke against his bare chest, teasing him, taunting him, begging him to just reach down and cup her in his hand. His body is screaming at him to take action. But his courage simply does not stretch that far. So he holds her, as close to his body as he can, kissing her deeply, passionately, caressing her back. Dreaming of a day, someday, when they are older. A day when he will finally be brave enough to ask her for everything; a day when she will, he hopes, willingly and gladly give it to him.

* * *

_January, 1934_

Peeta is taking a mathematics exam when he hears a young girl screaming.

Everyone runs to the door of the classroom, exams momentarily forgotten, to see the cause of the commotion. And at the end of the corridor he sees ten-year-old Primrose Everdeen, collapsed into a heap in Gale Hawthorne's arms, sobbing uncontrollably, her ashen-faced older sister standing beside them, as stoic a look on her face as Peeta has ever seen on another human being.

The three of them walk slowly down the hall towards the school's exit. Gale tries to get Prim to stand up on her own but she seems entirely incapable, nearly falling to the ground every time Gale sets her on her feet. He eventually gives up and carries her in his arms like a doll, down the corridor and out the front door.

Peeta longs to run after them, to beg for an explanation. But Peeta wonders if this might be a private family matter, given that Gale – a person he knows Katniss thinks of as an older brother – appears to be the only person aside from the Everdeen sisters privy to the situation. Peeta is terrified that something bad has happened to Katniss' family but does not want to intrude if his presence is unwelcome.

Not to mention the fact that there is this blasted mathematics exam that, unfortunately, will not take itself.

So after they have left the building, Peeta reluctantly returns to his seat along with his classmates. He picks up his pencil and bends to his task. He bides his time for now, but decides he will go to Katniss' house immediately after the end of school today.

* * *

There is a black motorcar Peeta does not recognize parked in front of the Everdeen home when he arrives later that afternoon.

He approaches the front door and knocks softly. After a few moments Gale wrenches the door open.

"Um, hi, Gale," Peeta says. He was not expecting to see Gale here. "I just… what, what happened today?"

Gale does not appear inclined to answer Peeta's question. The older boy just stares at him for a long moment, making Peeta very anxious.

Fortunately, Katniss appears in the doorway a few moments later. Her face is still ashen but now also streaked with the tracks of dried tears. Her hair is disheveled, her eyes bloodshot.

"Oh, Peeta!" she exclaims, walking around Gale and opening the screen door for Peeta to enter.

She gives Peeta the story of what happened today in fits and starts, sipping a cup of tea he insists on brewing for her, the two of them holding hands and sitting at the small table in the kitchen.

Earlier today Gale and her father had been working together to get the butcher shop ready for the day's customers. Gale had been in the back preparing inventory; Katniss' father was in the front of the shop stocking the refrigeration unit with fresh cuts of meat. Just then, her father heard a small commotion from outside the shop. When he stepped outside the front door he discovered three very blond, very blue-eyed boys about Katniss' age holding several cans of spray paint and three large bricks. They were apparently preparing to deface the front of the butcher shop, not even bothering to wait until the cover of darkness to do so.

When he saw the boys and saw what they were planning, Katniss' father became enraged and starting shouting at them, telling them to get off of his property immediately. The would-be vandals began to shout horrible anti-Semitic slurs back at him. (Katniss cannot bring herself to repeat them to Peeta.)

By this point Gale was able to hear the rapidly escalating altercation, even from where he was in the back of the shop. He came outside to investigate. And Gale arrived just in time to see Katniss' father give a strangled cry of pain, clutch violently at his upper left arm, and crumple into a heap on the ground.

And then the boys scattered.

"A heart attack, the doctor tells us," Katniss says quietly, closing her eyes. "Papa is lucky to be alive."

But even though her father is still alive, the doctor who examined him after Gale carried him into the house was emphatic: her father is now a gravely ill man and his prognosis is uncertain at best. He is to put as little strain on his body and on his mind as possible for the foreseeable future.

"It means Papa can't run the butcher shop for the time being. Or even work there." Katniss takes a deep breath and sips her tea before continuing in a much quieter voice. "It is possible that he may never work there again."

The room is silent for a long moment.

"What… what will your family do?" Peeta eventually asks. "I mean, the butcher shop is…" he trails off, not knowing how to finish that sentence.

"I am going to need to leave school, Peeta," Katniss says, sadly. "At least until Papa recovers." For the first time since he entered her home her eyes well with tears. But she brushes them away quickly. "Our family cannot survive without income from the shop. And Gale cannot run the business by himself."

"But what about your mother? Can't she –" Peeta begins.

"No. She can't." Katniss interrupts, an edge to her voice. She provides no additional explanation. Peeta wonders if Frau Everdeen has succumbed once again to the illness in her mind that overtakes her when life becomes too difficult to bear.

Peeta reaches out to take Katniss' hand again, knowing the gesture will do nothing to ease the pain she must be feeling but not knowing what else he can do.

It is, of course, not unheard of for a fifteen-year-old girl to stop going to school before finishing her formal course of study. But when that happens it is almost always due to her parents simply deciding it is time for her to spend more time learning to be a good housewife and less time poring over literature and mathematics. Peeta has _never_ heard of a girl leaving school because she is the only one who can provide for her family.

His heart breaks for Katniss, for the incredible burden she must now bear.

Peeta looks up as Prim and a gentleman he does not know enter the kitchen.

"Fraulein Everdeen," the man says to Katniss, "Your father is resting comfortably. I have provided the young Fraulein," he gestures to Prim, "with a list of instructions. A schedule for Herr Everdeen's medications, mostly, but also a list of signs to look for that indicate another call to me is immediately warranted."

Katniss stands and reaches out to shake his hand. "Thank you, Herr Doctor."

The doctor grasps her palm and smiles sadly at her. "I am truly sorry, Fraulein Everdeen. Truly."

And he exits the Everdeen home, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

Gale joins Katniss and Peeta in the kitchen shortly after the doctor leaves. The two of them have business to discuss, given that Katniss is assuming her father's responsibilities effective immediately.

At first Peeta makes to leave, feeling like an intruder and that he has nothing to contribute to this conversation. But Katniss asks him to stay. And so Peeta stays, pushing aside for now the fleeting worry that his mother will be furious when he is late coming home tonight. He offers to prepare dinner for everyone, feeling that it would be one way in which he could contribute. Katniss graciously accepts the offer.

So Peeta busies himself with preparing the food, Prim acting as his _sous_ chef. With both of Prim's parents asleep for now, she too seems to feel at loose ends, with nothing to occupy her mind at present. She seems to appreciate the diversion that collecting ingredients and chopping vegetables provides.

Prim goes to bed immediately after dinner is over and the dishes washed and put away, apparently exhausted from the events of the day. Gale gets up from the table himself a few moments later. Before leaving the house he wraps Katniss in an embrace and tells her, "I'll see you tomorrow morning. Everything is going to be all right."

Katniss nods against his chest but says nothing.

At last, when Peeta and Katniss are alone, he pulls her into his arms. Still, after everything she has been through today, after the realization of what her life has become has set in, she still does not cry. _My strong, brave girl_, he thinks, in awe and sadness.

As he caresses her back Peeta tells her they will still have Saturday afternoons together. That he can even help her keep up with her studies during the brief (he _swears_) period when she will need to be out of school. But he knows, as she surely must, that her life has irrevocably changed today and things will never be the same. She says nothing in response to his reassuring words.

Peeta wishes there were a way – _any_ way – to make the world a different, better place for her. A place where an innocent girl's life cannot be turned upside down in an instant by the unthinking, hate-fueled actions of others. In the absence of being able to do that he decides that, for now at least, he will simply hold her as close as he can.

* * *

_a/n This was going to be a nearly fluff-free chapter but a few days ago I happened upon a photograph of a model from the early 1930s wearing a gorgeous bathing suit. And I couldn't resist writing the lake scene. Hope you don't mind._

_Many thanks, in advance, to **populardarling** and **Court81981** who have both graciously agreed to help review future chapters to make sure I'm not making any significant historical errors._


	6. Chapter 6

_a/n – I'd like to say thank you, again, to all the wonderful people who've provided such wonderful support, encouragement, feedback as I've been writing this. And thank you, too, to the people who've been recc'ing this story on tumblr. You are all the best._

* * *

_January 1934, Frankfurt am Main_

Katniss is sitting on Peeta's lap in her family's kitchen. His arms are wrapped tightly around her and he is rocking her gently.

They've been sitting together like this ever since Gale left for home a half an hour ago. Peeta has been whispering words that she knows he intends to be reassuring in her ear.

But nothing he is saying can reassure her.

When Gale brought Katniss home this afternoon, and she saw Papa, unconscious and lying on their sitting room couch, paler than she'd ever seen him, it was like a large, immovable block of ice had lodged itself in her chest. Mama was sitting next to him in a small chair, her shoulders sunken, her entire body wrapped around itself, her eyes vacant and lost. Mama had not said anything since Papa collapsed this morning, Gale told her.

Eight hours later and Mama still has not spoken a single word, or even acknowledged any of the people who have come to attend to her husband. She is locked inside her own mind, Katniss knows, as lost to her now as Papa is. And there is no telling how long she may be gone.

In a matter of seconds, Katniss went from being a young girl to being the head of her household. She is solely responsible, at least until Papa recovers, for her family's survival.

And if he never recovers…

She feels like she can barely stand under the crushing weight of the burden she now carries.

Katniss knows she must be strong. Resolute. She simply has no other choice. Katniss shudders briefly and wraps her arms more tightly around Peeta as he continues to rock her. She closes her eyes and buries her face in his neck, tries to breathe him in, to summon strength from his steadiness.

Eventually, he tells her, in a quiet voice thick with regret, that he needs to go home. It's late, and his parents will be wondering where he is, and –

Suddenly and without warning, Katniss' strong veneer crumbles. She begins to sob – huge, body-wracking sobs – and clings to Peeta as if her life depends on it. She rages and moans incoherently – she's babbling, she vaguely recognizes – but she can't do this by herself, she can't do this without him, she can't, she _can't_. And he tries to sooth her by making sshhhh-ing sounds in her ear, telling her everything will be alright, telling her he isn't going anywhere, kissing her forehead over and over and over.

After nearly a quarter of an hour, Katniss' tears and rage have subsided, her body and emotions spent.

She lifts her head from his shoulder and looks him in the eye.

"Don't go home yet," she pleads, her eyes puffy and swollen from crying. "Stay with me."

He wraps himself even more tightly around her. "Always," he whispers fervently.

* * *

It is still dark when Katniss wakes. She yawns, rubs her eyes and starts to roll over to go back to sleep.

Only then does she realize, with a jolt, that Peeta is in her bed with her, snoring softly, and that her head is lying on his chest, his arms embracing her.

She remembers him carrying her up to her bedroom after her tears had finally dried. She remembers that he laid her in her bed, still wearing all of her clothes. And she remembers that he lay down beside her, soothing her and rubbing her back.

And… she doesn't remember anything else. She must have fallen asleep almost immediately after he got her into bed, exhausted from the day's trauma. And he must have fallen asleep accidentally shortly thereafter.

In a moment of panic Katniss quickly sits up and looks towards Prim's bed on the other side of the room. When she sees it empty Katniss remembers, with relief, that Prim decided to sleep on a little cot in their parents room tonight in case they woke up and needed caring for.

The issue of Prim's whereabouts settled, Katniss turns back to Peeta and starts to shake his shoulder. "Peeta," she says in a loud whisper. "Peeta. Wake up."

When Peeta doesn't rouse, she continues to shake him gently until eventually he stirs a little and smacks his lips. He rubs his face with his hand and slowly opens his eyes. He blinks blearily at Katniss a few times, a look of sleepy confusion on his face. "Katniss? What… what…?" He doesn't seem to know where he is.

Until suddenly, he does. He sits bolt upright at the realization that he is in Katniss' bedroom in the middle of the night, not his own. "OH! Oh, KATNISS!" he says, panicking. "Oh God, I need to… I need to go home! I'm so sorry Katniss, but I –"

"I know, it's alright. It's fine." She reaches out to touch his face. Presses a gentle kiss to his lips. "Thank you for staying with me, Peeta. I'm… I'm sorry if you're going to be in a lot of trouble with your parents."

Peeta doesn't respond for a long moment. "I likely will be," he finally says. She feels a pang of guilt at his words.

He swallows. "But I couldn't leave you like that. I couldn't." He turns to look at her, gives her a small smile. "It doesn't matter what my parents say or do. I had to stay until I was certain you were okay. Although…" he chuckles a little. "I probably should have tried to stay awake …"

"Thank you, Peeta" she says again. She knows the words are completely inadequate to express the gratitude she feels towards this sweet, compassionate boy who is willing to risk his parents' anger to help her when she needs it. But she doesn't know the right words to say.

Peeta kisses her then, slow and sweet and gentle. "I will see you on Saturday, alright?"

"Yes. Saturday."

He kisses her again. He lingers a little on her bottom lip, sucking it briefly into his mouth before releasing it. She kisses him back, winds her arms around him before she realizes she's done it.

She keeps expecting him to break off the kiss, given that it's the middle of the night and he should have gone home hours ago. But he doesn't. He keeps kissing her, begins kissing along her jaw, her neck. He wraps his own arms around her, pulls her closer.

She breaks away after a few moments. "Peeta?" she asks, a little breathlessly. Their arms are still around each other.

His face is flushed as he says, "Katniss, I…" he clears his throat. "You know, I'm… I'm not sure my parents will be any angrier with me if I arrive home at four in the morning than they will be if I arrive promptly at three. I'm basically done for, either way." He chuckles nervously. "So, I think I can stay with you a bit longer." He pauses, then adds hastily, "If you… I mean. If you want me to."

She feels her own face begin to flush. After the events of the day she is desperate for as much comfort as he can give her. If he is offering to stay with her for a little while longer she cannot say no. "Yes. I would… I would like that. Very much."

Peeta begins to rub the back of his neck. "You can go back to sleep if you like. I can just… hold you. Like I was… um. Doing before. Before we woke up, I mean." He coughs slightly. He is having trouble looking in her eyes. "Maybe I can protect you from nightmares," he says, vaguely.

Katniss isn't certain she will be able to fall asleep again if he's in her bed, holding her. It was one thing to sleep in Peeta's arms when she didn't consciously realize he was with her. She suspects it will be entirely another thing – and a very distracting one– to be lying in bed in his arms, _knowing_ that she is in his arms.

The very thought of it makes her heart race.

But even if she cannot sleep with him here she does not want him to go home. "Okay," she says, wondering if he can see how flushed she must be by now.

Peeta smiles at her then. He lies back down on her little bed and reaches for her to join him.

She complies, resting her head on his chest and letting him wrap his arms around her like he had unconsciously done in his sleep.

They lie together like that for a long moment, completely and unnaturally still. Peeta, she can tell, is barely even breathing. Her ear is pressed against his chest and she can hear the rapid pounding of his heart.

When a few minutes later Katniss begins to detect a slight tremor running through the arms holding her she knows this is simply not going to work.

"Peeta," she says quietly.

"Hm?" he asks, his voice shaky.

"I can't sleep like this."

"Oh," he says. She can feel him swallow. "Do you… should I go home, then? So you can sleep?" She thinks she can hear disappointment in his voice.

Katniss does not respond right away. "I… I don't want to sleep," she finally manages. And she realizes that it's the complete truth.

"What… what do you…" he stammers, then trails off.

Katniss rolls over slightly so that her upper body is on top of his. And she kisses him.

This is hardly the first time they have kissed. It might not even be the hundredth time. But they have never done _this_ before, with her lying on top of him in her bed, in the middle of the night, kissing each other, completely alone, with no one around to see or stop them.

And the feeling is electrifying.

Their kisses start off slowly, cautiously, but eventually his tongue skims her bottom lip and she opens her mouth to allow him access. She doesn't know what to do with her hands, but she is too full of nervous energy to keep them still, so she runs them through his blond curls again and again.

With a sigh, Peeta moves his arms so that she's again wrapped up in his embrace. But he cannot seem to keep his hands still, either. He starts to run his hands through her own hair, up and down her back, her arms, her sides.

Alone, in the dark, in her bed, and fueled by the horrors of the day, their kisses quickly grow more passionate. She cannot get enough of this, of him, of his touch. It feels like he is trying to consume her now, the way his mouth is moving against hers, the way his hands are roving so quickly over her body it seems like they are everywhere all at once.

And she wants to let him, to be consumed.

Peeta finally breaks away from the kiss, breathing heavily. "Katniss," he asks, his voice a little strange. "Can… can I touch you?"

She begins kissing a line along his jaw up to his ear. "Haven't you _been_ touching me?" she murmurs into his ear.

He whimpers a little as she starts to gently suck on his ear lobe. "Yes," he admits. "But what I meant was, can I touch your… your…"

Peeta doesn't seem able to finish his sentence. But, in a flash, understanding comes to her.

Katniss looks into his eyes. "Yes," she answers his unfinished question nervously but without hesitation. She sits up then and takes both of his hands in hers. And she slowly brings his hands up to her small breasts and holds them there.

"Like… like this?" she asks him, her voice wavering.

"Yes," he whispers hoarsely. "Oh, Katniss…"

And then, a moment later, he asks, in a whisper, "Are you sure this is all right? After everything that happened today…" he pauses. "I don't want to… to take advantage of you if you—"

"I want this, Peeta," she assures him, as she bends to kiss him again.

And it's the truth. She wants this. She _needs_ this. To be with Peeta like this, right now, to feel alive and vital, for him to chase away all of her fears and worries with his kisses, his touch. For tonight to give her strength for what is to come in the days ahead.

And she takes her hands away, leaving his where she left them. Peeta begins to caress her breasts slowly, tentatively, through her clothes. The sensation is like nothing she has ever experienced. As he touches her she can feel her nipples start to grow hard underneath her brassiere and poke through the thin fabric of her clothing. Peeta begins to circle them with his thumbs as he continues to massage her breasts. His eyes are completely transfixed on her body, on his hands.

She has wanted him to touch her like this for so long. But she never imagined that it would feel like _this_. The feeling of his strong hands on her body draws a quiet moan from her before she can stop it. Peeta answers her moan with one of his own, and, emboldened by her reaction to his touch, he pinches one nipple, and then the other, between thumb and forefinger, and rolls them, gently at first, and then with more force. Katniss moans again, she cannot help it, and begins to writhe a little under his hands.

The sensations coursing through her are making her feel wild, are giving her both a level of courage and a desperate need to act that she has never felt before. Almost before realizing she is doing it, Katniss swings a leg over Peeta and straddles his waist, shocking him and causing his eyes to open as wide as saucers. She leans forward and kisses him aggressively, shoving her tongue into his mouth without ceremony. Peeta whimpers into her mouth as he continues to knead her breasts, more forcefully now, his circling thumbs moving faster and faster.

Katniss gets a sudden irresistible urge to move her lower body against his, to rock her hips into him as he caresses her, as their lips move together at an almost frantic pace. And so she does, placing her hands on his chest for balance, reveling in the delicious new sensation the movement creates in her lower body. To her surprise the movement of her hips causes Peeta to pull away from her kiss and moan her name. She looks down at his face and his jaw is slack, his eyes glazed, his brow furrowed. His hands slip from her breasts, become vises on her hips as she moves over him, as he begins to meet her body's movements with his own. She stares at him, mesmerized.

A few very short moments later Peeta grits out, "Oh KATNISS – you should – oh – oh GOD—" and he cries out incoherently, his body convulsing underneath her.

Instinctively she stills her movements. A moment later, he sighs, and she feels Peeta's entire body relax.

And then a look of utter horror crosses his face.

"Oh _no…"_ he moans, hiding his face in his hands, mortified.

Katniss is perplexed. Her body is still humming from their activities of a moment ago. She isn't certain what is happening now, why they aren't still kissing and touching each other.

"Can I… can I borrow a small towel?" Peeta asks meekly from behind his hands, apparently still too embarrassed to show his face.

And then it dawns on Katniss what just happened.

"Um. Yes. Of course. Just – just wait right there," she stammers. She quickly climbs off of him and darts out of the room, her face turning what she's certain must be an absolutely vivid shade of red.

She quickly fetches a hand towel from the linen closet. When she returns to her bedroom the bedside lamp is on and Peeta is sitting up on her bed, looking dejectedly at his lap.

She hands him the towel and crosses the room to give him privacy. She can hear him wiping the towel across his pants, can hear him swear quietly under his breath.

"Thank you," he finally says. Clears his throat. "You can… you can turn around now."

She does and crosses over to him. "I'm… sorry, Peeta. I didn't mean to—"

"Sorry?" He laughs a little. "_You_? I'm the one who should be sorry. I… well. You know."

She holds out her arms to him and he embraces her. "I love you, Peeta," she says. She doesn't say it very often to him – the words stick in her throat more often than not when she tries. But she does love him, and he needs to know.

"I love you too," he says back to her, effortlessly.

They hold each other quietly for another long moment.

"I really do need to go home now," Peeta says to her, regret evident in his voice. "I can't put it off any longer."

She smiles at him and kisses his cheek. "I know. Thank you. For staying with me. And for…" she laughs a little, nervously. "And for tonight."

He presses his lips to hers. "Goodnight, Katniss. I'll see you on Saturday afternoon. And I will be thinking about you every single waking moment between now and then." He gives her another gentle kiss.

And then he opens the door to her bedroom and is gone.

* * *

As it happens, Katniss' time with Peeta does keep her nightmares away for the rest of the night. Instead of the morbid direction her dreams might have otherwise taken, in the few hours remaining before dawn her dreams all feature him.

She wakes again with the sun, the memory of Peeta's sweet kisses still on her lips. She lies in bed a few moments longer and savors it, lets the memory strengthen her for the day ahead.

After quickly dressing and running a comb through her hair, Katniss goes to her parents' room, bracing herself for what she might find inside.

Mama is still asleep. Prim is in her nightclothes but is awake, attending to Papa. Katniss is overjoyed to see Papa awake and alert now, sitting propped up against the headboard, looking at Prim and smiling.

"Good morning," Katniss says to her family.

Papa's eyes flit over to her. "_Liebchen_," he greets her, his smile growing wider.

Katniss goes to him and embraces him. "How are you feeling, Papa?"

"Well… to tell you the truth, I've felt better," he quips. "But if what your sister here is telling me is true, I should be very grateful to still be alive."

"It's true," Prim says, firmly. "And what Herr Doctor told us is true, too. You need to let us take care of you for a while, alright?"

Papa looks sternly at his youngest daughter. He starts to get out of bed. "Primrose Everdeen –" he begins.

Katniss interrupts him as Prim gently, but firmly, presses her hand to Papa's chest to sit him back down. "She's right, Papa. Herr Doctor was clear: you need to rest, you need to avoid any kind of stress or physical exertion."

Papa is clearly getting agitated. "And how do you propose our family survive while I am _resting_, hm? Gale cannot manage the butcher shop by himself, you know that as well as I do, Katniss."

"I will take your place at the shop until you recover," Katniss answers him, as boldly as she can. She knows Papa is not going to like this answer.

"Like hell you will," Papa nearly shouts at her. "You are a girl, _liebchen_. And my daughter. You belong in school, not _running the family business_ while your papa lies about."

Katniss expected this reaction from him and has her response already prepared. "The sooner you fully recover, the sooner you can go back to work. And the sooner I can go back to school." She sits next to him on the bed and musters as much courage as she can before she continues. "And you can't recover if you don't rest. If you ignore Herr Doctor's advice, and go back to work before you are strong enough… you will only make things worse for our family in the long run," she says, bluntly.

"Right now, Papa, your only job is to recover," Prim adds.

"And Papa… you know there is no one else who can take your place at the shop but me," Katniss says, in a much quieter voice, her words making clear the unspoken implication that Mama is mentally incapable of shouldering this responsibility.

Papa says nothing. He buries his face in his hands and takes a deep breath. "Alright," he says, quietly. "But the moment Herr Doctor tells us I am recovered, Katniss, this… _arrangement_ ends."

Katniss, relieved beyond her ability to express her relief that Papa is lucid and able to carry on a discussion with them, wholeheartedly agrees with him. And she tells him so.

Katniss and Prim have only a few brief moments alone to speak to each other as they prepare for the day.

Prim tells Katniss that Papa, while conscious and alert now, is still greatly weakened from his heart attack. Even if he had managed to get out of bed this morning during their dispute, she tells Katniss that she doubts he would have been able to stand unsupported for more than a moment or two.

"But it is going to be very difficult to keep him from trying to return to normal life. You saw how stubborn he was this morning," she says. And Katniss agrees.

Prim promises to call Herr Doctor after school with an update on Papa's condition, and ask for his thoughts, if any, on Papa's expected prognosis.

"Maybe also ask him for advice on how to deal with stubborn patients who don't like to follow their doctor's orders?" Katniss asks with a wry smile.

When she asks Prim how Mama is doing, Prim doesn't answer at first. "You and I will need to figure out a way to divide up the household responsibilities between us, at least for now," is all she says by way of response. But this tells Katniss all she needs to know. And she tries to fight the familiar anger that resurfaces every time Mama has an extended episode. She tries to remind herself that this is not Mama's fault. That she is sick, the way Papa is sick. But despite Katniss' best efforts, she cannot help but resent her mother whenever she cannot be a mother to her daughters. Especially now, in light of Papa's precarious condition.

Prim adds, hastily, "You know, I should probably do most of the cooking and cleaning since you will be working all day. The washing and mending too, I think."

Katniss is reluctant to agree to this. Prim is only ten years old and it is very important that she not let anything get in the way of her keeping up with her studies, even if Katniss cannot keep up with her own. If Prim takes on the lion's share of the housework she will not be able to adequately prepare for her classes. But all Katniss tells Prim is that they can discuss the division of household responsibilities later, over dinner.

"Katniss," Prim says, her voice wavering a little. "I hope things can… can get back to normal for us soon." For the first time this morning Katniss can hear fear in her sister's voice.

"So do I, Prim," Katniss says, trying, for her sister's sake, to keep her voice strong. To _be_ strong. To hide from Prim the fear she feels herself.

The sisters embrace, and then Katniss watches, as stoically as she can manage, as Prim collects her satchel and leaves their house for school.

When Katniss arrives at the shop it is only half past seven in the morning, but she knows Gale will have already been there for over an hour. Ever since Papa gave Gale a one-third partnership interest in the shop's profits a year ago, it has been Gale's responsibility to open the shop and ready the inventory for the day's customers. Papa, in turn, handles the end-of-day closing duties. When Gale and Katniss met last night to discuss her taking over Papa's shop responsibilities they saw no need to alter that basic schedule.

Katniss picks up an apron from the hook near the front counter and goes into the back room where she knows Gale will be. She finds him there chopping large sides of beef with a sharp cleaver, his rubber gloves covered in animal blood.

"Hi, Gale," she greets him, tying the apron around her waist.

"Katniss," he says, looking up from his work and smiling at her.

One significant change they made last night to the division of labor Papa and Gale have worked out over the years is that Katniss will now be responsible for the majority of the work in the back of the shop – cleaning carcasses, cutting meat – whereas before, Papa had let Gale (a younger and much stronger man) handle most of that heavy work. She supposes she might be the only girl in Germany who not only finds working with a meat cleaver infinitely less intimidating than involving herself directly in customer service, but actually _enjoys_ that kind of work. Either way, now that Katniss is working here in her father's stead, Gale and Katniss have decided that Katniss will take over what Gale was previously chiefly responsible for, and Gale will spend most of the day in the front with customers.

"How is he?" Gale asks Katniss as he starts to remove his soiled gloves.

"Better, I think," Katniss replies. "He was conscious this morning. And tried to argue with me when I told him I was working here in his place until he fully recovers."

Gale breathes an audible sigh of relief. "I am very glad to hear that."

Katniss nods, donning a clean set of gloves. "I don't think it means he can return to work soon, though. He is still very weak."

"And how are you, Katniss?" Gale asks, tilting his head slightly to the side. He crosses over to the washbasin and lathers his arms with soap up to the elbows. "When I left last night you looked like you were trying to be so strong, but…" He doesn't finish the sentence, just rinses his arms under the faucet.

If she answers Gale's question honestly she will break down the way she did last night in Peeta's arms. That is not something she can do afford to do a second time. "I will be fine," she says, shaking her head, mostly lying.

"I'm so sorry you had to leave school, Katniss," Gale says then. "I really am. I know how much you like school and… and all that." Gale always hated school, Katniss knows. Even though he certainly would have preferred not to have become the head of his household at the age of fifteen after his father's death, leaving school when Papa offered him a partnership had been an easy decision for Gale. Not even a real decision at all.

"I'm just hopeful I'll get to go back soon," Katniss says. "In the meantime, Peeta will still be visiting me on Saturdays, and he'll help me stay current with my schoolwork."

Gale says nothing for a long moment, but his eyes grow hard. "You can_not_ be serious, Katniss."

Katniss is dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?"

"Him," is all he says.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little more specific."

Gale takes his apron off and exchanges it for a clean one. He turns and glares at her. "You are going to let that Mellark kid keep visiting you, _kissing_ you, every single week, even after what they did to your papa yesterday?"

"Peeta had _nothing_ to do with that, Gale!" Katniss says, angrily. "Why would I stop letting him visit me?" She doesn't respond to the kissing allegation.

He just shakes his head at her. "They are _all the same_, Katniss," he spits out. "Every single one of them. They're either throwing the bricks or sending people off to Dachau themselves, or else they're looking the other way while their friends and neighbors do it. It's all the same thing in the end."

In spite of herself, Katniss cannot help but flinch when Gale says the word "Dachau." Shortly after Hitler became Germany's Chancellor, his new government established the camp at the site of an old factory near Munich. When Dachau was created the government claimed, proudly, that it was a new kind of labor camp – the newspapers called it a "concentration camp," Katniss remembers – specifically for enemies of the state.

The government claims that the majority of Dachau's inmates are communists and socialists, but the rumor is that the government is just using the camp as a convenient way to rid Germany of people it finds undesirable. Katniss does not know how large the camp is but she has heard that up to a thousand people have been sent there from all parts of Germany over the past six months.

But the shock she initially feels over Gale's unprompted reference to Dachau is quickly replaced by anger. She is furious. How _dare_ Gale implicate Peeta – innocent, compassionate Peeta, who loves her and would do anything and everything in his power to protect her and keep her safe – in the terrible things happening in Germany!

So she refuses to dignify any of what he has said with a response.

"Gale, customers will be here any minute," she says instead, enraged. "Get the _hell_ out my sight and go wait on them."

He complies without another word.

* * *

Business is slower today than Katniss had expected. Shortly before closing time she says as much to Gale.

"Business is always slow now, Katniss." He shakes his head. "You know that."

She does. But until today, she typically only worked in the shop on Saturdays, which have always been their busiest days. She hadn't realized things were _this_ bad.

"Why don't you go home, Gale," she suggests. "We haven't had a customer in an hour. I think I can take care of whoever might come in in the next half an hour on my own."

Gale thanks her. "I'll see you tomorrow, Katniss." He walks towards the door but hesitates before opening it. He turns to her and says, slowly, "I'd apologize for what I said to you earlier. But I'm not sorry."

"I love Peeta, Gale," she says, as emphatically as she can. "I won't leave him. And you're wrong about him. You are."

Gale says nothing for a long moment. He takes a deep breath. When he speaks again all he says is, "See you tomorrow." And then he walks out the door.

After he leaves, Katniss goes into her papa's office to start going over the books.

In truth, Katniss has always disliked her father's method of tracking the business' transactions. If it were her own business she thinks she would organize the columns in the ledger completely differently. However, Katniss refuses to make any significant changes to how her father organizes his records because… well, because she is going to remain optimistic that soon enough, he will be back to handling this duty himself.

She is almost finished with today's entries when she hears the bells over the front door jingle, signaling that someone has just entered the shop. Katniss looks over to the clock on the far wall and sees there are only five minutes remaining before closing time.

"Someone got here just in time," Katniss says quietly to herself, donning her apron and walking towards the front of the shop.

When she sees who it is, she freezes in place.

It's Frau Mellark.

Katniss has only met Peeta's mother a handful of times (and has not seen her even once in the entire time Katniss has been involved with her son). But Katniss would recognize her anywhere. Peeta looks a bit like her, really, at least in many of the broad details - they have the same nose, and he also favors her in the shape of his mouth as well as the placement of his ears. Their hair and eye color are exactly the same. At the same time, and in all the ways that really matter, the mother and son couldn't possibly look more unlike each other. Whereas Peeta's eyes are laughing and kind, Helga Mellark's are cold and unfeeling, and where his mouth looks perpetually on the verge of a smile, hers looks like she has never laughed in her life.

To Katniss' knowledge, Frau Mellark has never once been inside this shop. She cannot begin to imagine what might have brought her here today.

"May… may I help you?" Katniss asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

"No," Frau Mellark says bluntly, staring. "I'm only here to deliver two messages. One for your father, and one for you. Let's do his first, hm? Is he available?"

Katniss clears her throat. She cannot help but be unnerved by Frau Mellark's hostile tone. "He's… he's ill. You can give me the message and I'll make certain he gets it."

Frau Mellark approaches the counter that separates her from Katniss. "Certainly. You may tell your father that effective immediately, Mellark's Bakery will no longer be selling to your family."

Katniss suddenly feels like the room is spinning. Like the earth has fallen out of its orbit.

"Wh-wh-_what?_" Katniss stammers, completely dumbfounded.

The older woman continues to glare at her, unflinchingly. "Fraulein Everdeen, this is a… let's just call it a change to our business model, that I've wanted to make for years," she spits at her. "And at about four o'clock this morning, I was finally able to convince Herr Mellark that I've had the right idea all along."

_Four o'clock_? That must have been when Peeta…

Oh _no_…

"But my family… we… we've been buying your bread for years, Frau Mellark!" Katniss continues, becoming increasingly flustered. "We always pay you on time, we're good customers, we—"

"We've made our decision, Fraulein," Frau Mellark interrupts. "And it's final."

Katniss says nothing. She doesn't think there is anything to say.

"And as for the second message, the one for you," she continues. Clears her throat. "I _demand_ that you stay away from my son. You _filthy Jewish whore_."

The room is spinning, even more so than it was before. Katniss thinks she might actually faint. She places her hands on the counter, tries to brace herself in case she falls.

"Frau Mellark…" Katniss begins, then trails off. All the oxygen has left her body.

"I've known about my son's little dalliance with you for some time now, Fraulein. Cato Fielder, indeed," she scoffs. Katniss has no idea what Cato has to do with anything but she remains silent. "And for years I chose to do nothing. But that was before I knew Peeta was _fucking_ you." She shakes her head, her eyes enraged. "I will _not_ have any bastard Jewish grandchildren. Do you hear me?"

Frau Mellark leans over the counter and spits directly in Katniss' face. It snaps Katniss out of the fog her words left her in, and Katniss wipes the spittle off with the back of her hand.

"You know… your father did a very good job repairing that front window after my son Rye broke it with his friends two years ago," Frau Mellark continues, turning towards the window in question, simultaneously abruptly changing the subject and shocking Katniss even further. She snaps her head back to Katniss before continuing. "But I'm sure I don't have to tell you, Fraulein, that there are far _worse_ things that can happen to a Jewish family, now, than a broken window."

She walks towards the front door of the shop then. But before leaving she turns back to face Katniss once more. And she says her final words to Katniss carefully and slowly, as if Katniss were a slow-witted child. "Stay. Away. From. My. Son."

* * *

Katniss lies in bed awake for hours that night, Frau Mellark's thinly veiled threat ringing in her ears on an endless loop.

_I'm sure I don't have to tell you, Fraulein, that there are far worse things that can happen to a Jewish family, now…_

Frau Mellark is right, of course. Katniss knows full well that there are far worse things that can happen to her, now, than a broken window. Obviously Frau Mellark lacks the kind of clout that could get her family sent to Dachau, but if Peeta's mother were angry enough it would take little enough effort to get another group of boys – perhaps even her son Rye! Oh God, _Rye_! – to vandalize the butcher shop again. They could break all the windows rather than just the one. They could burn the entire butcher shop to the ground. They could burn her _house_ to the ground, with everyone still inside. Gale keeps telling her that Jewish people are occasionally being beaten by roving gangs of non-Jewish Germans, now, with no provocation. What if such a gang went after _Prim_ one day on her way home from school?

Katniss knows that if any of that happened to her family they would have no legal recourse whatsoever. What's more, she knows that if any of that happened to her family... the strain of it would, without question, kill Papa.

She cannot believe that less than twenty-four hours ago she was in this very bed with Peeta, kissing him, loving him. And that she is now faced with this impossible choice: being with Peeta, and her family's safety. Is it possible, she wonders, that Frau Mellark is simply bluffing? Of course. But is she willing to risk her family's safety and wellbeing by taking a chance and ignoring Frau Mellark's treat?

Katniss wonders if Frau Mellark had a similar conversation with Peeta earlier today about staying away from her. Katniss suspects she must have. But Frau Mellark must know her son well enough to know that he would likely laugh in his mother's face and continue to see Katniss anyway. Frau Mellark needed to take more drastic measures to _ensure_ they stayed apart, Katniss concludes, and so she paid the butcher shop a visit this afternoon.

How can she survive without Peeta? It's unthinkable.

But how can she jeopardize her family by being with him?

For the second time since her father's heart attack Katniss allows herself the luxury of bursting into tears.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Trigger Warning: This chapter contains a brief description of child abuse.**_

* * *

_August, 1938; Brooklyn, New York_

_After three cups of Effie's strong black coffee and a cold, bracing shower, Haymitch decides that he is probably as close to revived as he is going to get. _

_He dries himself with a towel, dresses quickly and presses a chaste kiss to Effie's cheek. As he turns to leave for the day he tells her he will see her this afternoon… when he brings his niece home with him. Effie smiles and squeezes his arm affectionately._

_The moment Haymitch steps outside he immediately realizes that today is going to be another sweltering summer day. The humid air is a tangible weight pressing down on him and he is sweating profusely by the time he has walked the three blocks separating his second-story walkup and the subway station. The heat, combined with his sleep deprivation and general anxiousness about today makes him feel even more irritable than he normally does at this early hour. _

_But none of that can be helped. Haymitch does his best to put his discomfort out of mind as he boards the train that will bring him to Greenwich Village. _

_Once seated, Haymitch pulls out the slip of paper from his pocket and checks the address of the café where he is meeting Mrs. Doellefeld. She has been involved with bringing them over from Germany from the very beginning. And he needs to discuss specifics with her now that they are almost here. _

_Mrs. Doellefeld is heavily pregnant, and Haymitch suspects that today she will ask him if his niece's travelling companion can stay at his apartment for a short time, at least until after her baby is born._

_Haymitch doesn't really trust the boy. He just _can't _trust him, not after everything that has happened. But Haymitch also recognizes, on some level at least, that his mistrust is grossly unfair. Haymitch knows how important this young man is to Katniss. And how instrumental he has been to her family's survival. _

_As the train rushes its passengers towards Manhattan, Haymitch decides that if Mrs. Doellefeld asks, he will put his irrational feelings aside and agree to temporarily house this Peeta Mellark. _

* * *

_September, 1934; Frankfurt am Main_

When he arrives at Streu's party, Peeta tells himself that tonight he will finally follow his brother's advice for getting over a broken heart.

And so several hours later, when the blonde-haired girl who's been making eyes at him all evening moves even closer and looks up at him expectantly, Peeta leans forward and kisses her.

He suspects that the girl – Glimmer? Glitter? Peeta quite can't remember her name; maybe he never actually knew it – might be a little drunk. He knows that he is _more_ than a little drunk. But he also knows that he would never be able to do this sober.

Peeta breaks away from her for a moment to glance around the room. If his brother or any of his friends are shocked at what he and this girl are now doing in the middle of the sitting room no one is showing any outward signs of it. In fact, no one seems to be paying them any attention at all.

Satisfied that they do not have an interested audience, Peeta turns back to the girl. Even while intoxicated he is able to objectively recognize that she is pretty. That helps.

Once she has regained his full attention the girl moves to sit on his lap and kisses him again. She makes a small mewling sound against Peeta's lips that he interprets as a request for him to open his mouth a little for her tongue. He obliges, and vaguely notes that she tastes of beer and of the chocolate cake Streu served this evening.

The girl gets more aggressive with him then. She leans forward and starts to suck and nip playfully at the skin underneath his right ear. Peeta whimpers a little, involuntarily, surprising himself. He runs his hands up and down her arms and tries to lose himself further in the feeling of her soft skin under his fingertips, of her tongue tracing the contours of his ear.

She asks him if he would like to step outside with her for a bit and get some fresh air, her tongue drawing little circles on his earlobe. Peeta is fairly certain he knows what she is really asking him. And he agrees to go with her, because he promised himself he would take Streu's advice, but also because his traitorous body is shockingly eager to go along with her unspoken plan.

The girl climbs off of Peeta and takes him by the hand, leading him out of Streu's flat. Before the door has closed all the way behind them she kisses him again, cupping his face in her hands as she brings his lips down to hers. He tries to stay in the moment, with this girl. So he places one hand on either side of her waist and squeezes, gently, focusing on the feel of her yielding flesh under his hands. As she kisses Peeta she slowly walks backwards, taking him with her, boxing herself in between him and the outside wall of Streu's building.

Suddenly, an image rises unbidden in Peeta's mind. It is a sweet memory, painfully sweet, and one that he regularly tries, without much success, to suppress. It is an image of him, kissing Katniss, the girl he loved (the girl he _still_ loves, _goddamnit_), last year, on her birthday. They are in this exact spot, his body pinning her beautiful body to this very wall. She is wearing a sunset-colored dress that he both cannot take his eyes off and also wants desperately to rip from her body. Katniss' arms are around him, his mouth is on her mouth, and her kisses are anchoring him to this earth. His tongue finds her collarbone and the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and every part of her he can reach.

And just like that, Peeta realizes that if he does not stop kissing _this_ girl this instant he will be sick.

"Glimmer," he says, guessing at her name, panting a little as he pulls away from her abruptly, like she might burn him if he does not move away quickly enough. She does not correct his guess and so he continues. "We should… we should go back inside."

The girl – Glimmer – looks at him a little quizzically. She cocks her head to one side. "What?" she asks, sounding incredulous.

"We should go back inside," Peeta repeats, more assertively this time.

"But… but I don't _want_ to go back inside," Glimmer tells him, a little plaintively. She is a university girl, Peeta knows, probably at least two years older than him, and also probably unused to not getting her way when she wants to be with boys like this.

Peeta rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. But I… I can't stay out here with you." He tries to smile at her. "I promised Streu that I'd…" No ready lie comes to mind and so he trails off. "Look. I just… can't do this."

And he goes back into the flat and rejoins the party.

* * *

Peeta knows his mother must have been behind Katniss leaving him. Somehow. He doesn't know what his mother did to make her leave. Not exactly. But Peeta knows – he _knows_ – it was his mother all the same.

Peeta also knows that this knowledge changes nothing.

He can still vividly remember stumbling home just before dawn the morning after he fell asleep in Katniss' bed. He had been half-drunk on love, still dizzy from the memory of how Katniss' soft breasts had felt in his hands, her quiet moans still ringing in his ears. He had opened the front door of his home quietly, hoping against hope that no one had noticed he'd never come home that night… only to find his mother, not even dressed for bed, sitting in the front room with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Waiting for him.

His mother told him then that she had known about him and Katniss for months. Peeta's father interceded on his behalf, time and again, without Peeta even knowing about it. His father had implored his mother to do nothing every time the subject came up. They are only children, his father had said. There is no harm in it.

And his mother had deferred to his father's wishes for a long time and agreed, grudgingly, to do nothing, "against my better judgment!" she screamed at Peeta. But she would be putting a stop to it now, she told him, as she began to hit his body again and again and again with the rolling pin she had tucked behind the chair. Putting a stop to selling to Jews. Putting a stop to his time with Katniss.

When she was finished, his mother said that he would be spending no more time "_with that filthy Jewish whore._" As if that settled the matter.

But Peeta had had no intention of doing as instructed. His mother could hit him with as many rolling pins as she liked.

And so the next Saturday – the first Saturday since their night together in her bed – once his deliveries were completed he raced to Katniss' house on his bicycle as fast as he could. He had rehearsed what he was going to say to her all morning. He planned to get down on his knees and beg her to forgive him for the decision his mother had made to stop selling to their Jewish customers. He would take her hands in his and tell her they would have to be more careful in the future. He might not be able to see her _every_ Saturday anymore, because his mother was going to start keeping a closer eye on his whereabouts. And as much as the idea broke his heart, he would just not be able to stay with her in her bed ever again.

Peeta was going to promise her that he would find a way to deliver bread to her family anyway. A way to keep seeing her anyway.

And in his head he imagined that Katniss would understand, kiss him a little, and tell him that she did not hold what his witch of a mother had decided against him. _We will find a way_, she would tell him, before kissing him once more.

But none of it went according to plan.

When Katniss answered his knock at the door he knew immediately that something was very wrong. Her eyes were distant. She wouldn't – or perhaps couldn't – look him in the eye. She came outside and sat next to him on her family's porch swing but would not take his hand when he offered it.

"I can't see you anymore," she told him quietly.

"Look, Katniss," he began, about to launch into his prepared speech, his stomach suddenly in knots. "I am so, so sorry about what my mother did. You have _no_ idea. But –"

"I know you had nothing to do with your mother's decision to stop selling to us, Peeta," she said, still not taking his hand, eyes fixed on an invisible point in the distance. "And this has nothing to do with the bread." She paused, and then took a deep breath before continuing.

"It's my family," she said, the words coming out in a near whisper. She closed her eyes. "I need to take care of them. My Papa is still so sick. And Mama too. And then there's Prim. She's so young…" Another pause. "And I can't… I can't be with you and take care of all of them. I've been over it and over it in my head, trying to think of a way…." She opened her eyes then and resumed staring off into the distance. "But it's just not possible."

This had made no sense to Peeta. Hadn't he always been there for her? Helping her, helping her to be strong? Hadn't she just told him the other night that she couldn't take care of her family _without_ him?

Peeta jumped off the porch swing then and got on his knees in front of her. He lifted her chin so that she had no choice but to look him in the eyes.

"Katniss, this can still work. It _can_." His voice was growing frantic. He was growing frantic. "I won't be able to come over quite as often anymore, I know that's true, but—"

"Peeta," Katniss said. He had never heard her voice sound so sad. She reached out and caressed his cheek. "I love you. I do." She schooled her features then, turning her face into a mask of stoicism. "But you need to go now."

He cannot clearly remember what happened next. He knows he became hysterical, that he grabbed at her legs as she made to walk back into the house. He thinks he must have begged, pleaded with her incoherently. But he cannot remember exactly what he said, or what he did, or exactly how, in the end, she had disentangled herself from his grasp to go back into her house.

All he can remember is sitting there, alone, on her porch, for a long time, weeping inconsolably. And that somehow he found his way home.

* * *

Peeta, mostly sober now, stays behind after all of Streu's other party guests have left to help clean up.

"Peeta, you don't have to do that," Streu tells him as his younger brother begins stacking dessert plates and carries them to the wash basin.

"I don't mind," Peeta replies. And he doesn't. It allows him to put off going home for another little while.

Peeta spends as much time as he can at Streu's flat these days. He plans to move in with him when Finnick gets married next summer. Next summer can't get here quickly enough for Peeta. He can barely bring himself to look at his mother now, let alone live with her.

As he starts to scrub the dishes Streu asks him what he thinks of Glimmer. "She seemed quite… taken with you," he notes, the smirk on his face evident in his voice. "Finn and I invited her to the party just for you, you know."

Peeta turns to face him and rubs his eyes briefly with a wet hand. Streu winks at him then, but Peeta just rolls his eyes. "I don't think your advice is going to work for me, Streu," is all he says before turning back to the dishes. "If anything, it made things worse. When I was kissing her, it just reminded me of…" He takes a deep breath. "Of my time with Katniss."

Streu comes up behind his brother and places a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Peet. I am. Finding someone else _does_ work, sometimes. I swear it does." He pauses. "Maybe it's too soon?"

"It's been _eight months_, Streu," Peeta points out. He shakes his head. "I don't think I will ever be ready to be with anyone else." He buries his face in his hands before continuing. "Maybe I should join a monastery," he says. He knows he's being melodramatic now. But he doesn't care.

Streu laughs, but not unkindly. "Even if things didn't go well with Glimmer tonight, I think it's a bit too early for that kind of thinking."

Peeta shrugs. "Maybe," he concedes, but grudgingly, and turns back to the dishes.

The brothers work together in silence for another long moment.

"Peeta," Streu eventually says. He pauses briefly before continuing. "Have you thought more about that other subject we discussed yesterday?"

Peeta turns to face his brother. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

And Peeta does. But if there's anything that upsets him more than thinking about Katniss, or kissing other girls, it's thinking about joining the _Hitler-Jugend_. "Hitler's Youth," the English-language newspapers have started calling it.

"No, Streu. I haven't thought more about it. Because I really don't want any more exposure to Nazi propaganda than I already have to deal with as it is." He turns back to the dishes and begins to dry them. "Or to be trained so that one day, I too can join the elite paramilitary assigned to protect and defend _Der Fuhrer_." He spits out Hitler's new moniker with disdain.

Streu raises his hands in an attempt to placate his brother. "Peeta, look. You know that's not what we're really asking you to do."

"I don't _care_ what you're really asking me to do, Streu," Peeta says, shaking his head. He's getting angry now. "I can't do it."

"You could help her, you know," Streu continues, more quietly, but just as insistently. "You could help all of us. All of Germany." He puts his hand on his brother's shoulder. "You could help us show people the truth about what's happening to our country."

Peeta shakes his head again. "You really think distributing your leaflets among the proud young members of the _Hitler-Jugend_ will rid us of _Der Fuhrer?_" He gives a mirthless laugh. "It won't." He looks Streu right in the eye. "You and Finn work for the government now, Streu. You both know how popular he is. How utterly _thrilled_ these kids are to be training up to become 'strong young Aryans.'"

Peeta pauses a moment and adds, "The only way we will be rid of Hitler is if someone assassinates him." No one has told him this, but he knows it's true. As beloved as he presently is among their countrymen, it has to be true.

Streu doesn't say anything else right away. "I think you're not wrong about that last point," he says eventually. "If my time in the government has told me anything, it's that you're not wrong." He runs his hand through his hair before continuing. "But we need to work our way up to that, don't we." It isn't a question.

Peeta doesn't respond.

"Just promise me you will think about it, all right?" Streu asks. "You won't have to write a single word, Peeta. Finn and I are getting all the information we need from our friends at the university and through our connections in the government. All we need is someone to help distribute the leaflets to the children." He looks imploringly at Peeta. "You don't even have to attend more than a handful of meetings."

Peeta stares at his brother for a long moment. "_If_ I do this…" he begins, with strong emphasis on the first word, "can you promise me that I'll be assigned to Finnick's unit? I cannot stand the idea of participating in this, even in the limited way you are suggesting, if I need to spend even one _second_ listening to a regiment leader who actually believes what he's telling us."

Streu shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Peeta, but that isn't going to work. We can't really control who gets assigned to which regiment. And besides, he will be distributing the leaflets himself among his own group." He smiles sadly at Peeta. "If you help us you'll be the only person in the group who is working with us."

Peeta takes a deep breath and nods. He looks at his brother. "If there's any chance that my doing this could help Katniss and her family – any chance at all…" He trails off. "Look, Streu. I'll think about it. I promise. Just give me a little more time."

Streu thanks him. Peeta returns to the dishes. And the conversation is over.

* * *

Even though she will no longer allow him to talk to her – to touch her – Peeta still _sees_ Katniss regularly. Almost every day, in fact.

Because Katniss is back in school.

She has been since March. After only two months of rest, Herr Everdeen was given a clean bill of health. His doctor said he could return to work, with the caveat that Gale would need to do as much of the hard physical labor involved with running the butcher shop as possible.

This was apparently an arrangement everyone involved could live with. And so on the same day her father was released from his doctor's care, Katniss was released from the burden of being the sole person responsible for her family's survival.

Peeta had heard none of this directly from Katniss herself, of course. He hadn't even known she was coming back until she just showed up one day in his English class, eyes downcast, her nervousness about returning to her studies after such a long time away written plainly on her face.

It had been the first time Peeta had even laid eyes on her in two months. He had respected her wishes and kept his distance after she told him he needed to leave that fateful day on her porch, despite the fact that he yearned to go to her house, every single day, and beg her to reconsider.

_But now Katniss is back_, he can remember thinking to himself that morning as Mrs. Straber passed out the day's lesson. _Everything will be all right now_. The reasons Katniss gave for sending him away no longer applied, because her father was healthy enough to work. She wasn't the only person who could care for her family anymore.

He could be with her again.

Peeta had practically tripped over himself in his mad rush to her side her first day back at school. But he could tell immediately that he needn't have bothered. She had taken her seat next to the window without so much as a glance at him. "Peeta," she said to him, coolly, her eyes on her bag as she rifled through it for her English text. And that was the only acknowledgement she gave him.

And now it's like his life had been before, during all those years when he loved her from afar but couldn't speak to her out of nervousness. Except now it's infinitely worse, because now he knows what it feels like to be able to talk with her. To touch her, and have her touch him back. To kiss her. To love her. And now, instead of it being only a matter of him working up the courage to go up and talk with her… he knows that she doesn't want him to.

He wants to blame his mother for this. He wants to believe that his mother said something to Katniss, that she _did_ something to Katniss, the day she told the Everdeens that the Mellarks would no longer be selling to them. But as he watches Katniss, day after day, going about her life without him, without _wanting_ him, he cannot help but wonder if perhaps Katniss has found someone else to love. Or if, for no reason at all, she simply stopped loving him all on her own.

* * *

When Peeta isn't working in the bakery or at Streu's flat, he is usually in his room at home, painting. It both grounds him and gives him an excuse to get away from his mother.

He paints different things depending on his mood. Sometimes he paints beautiful places he has seen or heard about. He gets the occasional letter from Madge in Salzburg. Her letters always inspire him to paint what he imagines Austria must look like.

Peeta also gets letters from his cousin Delly in America quite frequently, and he tries to paint the things she describes. The fall foliage in the part of America she called New England in her last letter, for example. Or Lady Liberty, the first image Delly saw when she arrived in America five years ago. A subway car. Delly herself.

He's painted the lake in the _Stadtwald_ – the place where he picnicked with Katniss last year – a few times. Peeta knows it is not as exotic as those other places and things. But to him it will always be beautiful.

And, in spite of his best efforts to avoid thinking about her, Peeta routinely paints Katniss. He just can't help himself. His room is filled with paintings of her, of his beautiful memories of her.

And once – just once – he painted how he imagines Katniss must look without any clothes. He hates himself for painting that. He does. And yet he cannot bring himself to destroy the picture, and finds his eyes drawn to it every single day.

Peeta has been painting for several hours tonight when he decides he is finished for the day and ready for bed. As he undresses his mind goes back to the last conversation he had with his brother.

He knows that Streu's plan is ridiculous. It will accomplish nothing. Streu and Finnick have the right of it of course – Hitler is a monster. And Peeta does not doubt that the two of them are both very smart and very, very brave. But there is nothing that a handful of bright, idealistic university students can do to convince a nation to oust – or assassinate! – a popular leader. Even a leader as terrible as Hitler.

What's more, Peeta knows that doing a thing like they are proposing would be terribly dangerous. Even though all Streu and Finnick will be doing is writing up a few leaflets, and all that Peeta – _if_ he helps them; he still has not decided – will be doing is distributing them on one or two occasions among his classmates and friends, Peeta knows that if any one of them are caught, it could easily mean Dachau, or worse. Peeta knows that Hitler has established a network of spies throughout Germany who report back to him on people's activities. Herr Coriolanus Snow, Herr Himmler's assistant, is based in Frankfurt now, and would have no qualms whatsoever about calling in their secret police, their Gestapo, at his first suspicion of seditious activity.

If Peeta really believed that the plan had any chance of helping Katniss, he would do whatever Streu asked of him without hesitation. He would do _anything_ for her, still, even though she doesn't want him anymore. But does he agree to help with something like this, something that is doomed to fail, something that would require him to sit and listen to hate-filled propaganda for hours each day after school, just because his older brother thinks it might help?

_Do you have a better plan in mind, Peeta?_ his conscience chimes in, then, suddenly.

And he realizes, in horror, that he doesn't.

So he decides, in bed that night, that although his brother's plan is foolhardy, and although he knows it will never work, participating in it is better than doing nothing at all.

If nothing else, he thinks ruefully, attending _Hitler-Jugend_ meetings will likely take his mind off of Katniss much more thoroughly than kissing other girls ever would.

* * *

_a/n: A very special thanks to **Court81981** and **RainyDaysAnyways** for giving feedback on this chapter! And thanks to everyone on tumblr and FFn for their support._

_My apologies for the fact that this chapter is a little on the short side. It just wouldn't make sense to include the next scene here, though. Expect the next chapter to be longer than average to make up for it. ;)_

_And for those of you who are familiar with this period of history, I recognize that I'm taking some liberties here. Yes, I'm imagining that other university students had a plan similar to The White Rose's way back in the mid-1930s. And yes, Coriolanus Snow helped run the Gestapo. Let's just roll with it for now. ;) _


	8. Chapter 8

_a/n – Many thanks to the lovely Court81981 for continuing to keep me from bungling history too badly with this story, and to the lovely ElsterBird for providing VERY helpful German language advice! Continued thanks to everyone else for your guidance, advice, and wonderful support. _

_Unfortunately, my rate of updating will have to slow down to roughly once every 2-3 weeks going forward. It can't be helped. Hopefully once October gets here I'll be able to pick up the pace again._

* * *

_October 1934, Frankfurt am Main_

Katniss walks quickly across the crowded school gymnasium, scanning the room for Prim's Science Fair exhibit.

Although in the past Katniss always viewed the school's annual Science Fair with no small amount of disdain - as being little more than extra schoolwork, really, thinly veiled as an extra-curricular activity – this year Katniss wouldn't miss the Fair for anything.

Prim has built a life-sized, intricate papier-mâché replica of the human body. And it's incredible. Prim's thorough knowledge of human anatomy and physiology, and her painstaking attention to detail in designing this model, is far beyond anything expected of students even in the later grades.

Katniss has never seen anything like it before in her life.

Prim hasn't said much about it, but Katniss knows she hopes to win First Prize for her year today. Maybe even First Prize for the entire school. Based on what Katniss knows of typical Science Fair entries she thinks Prim probably has minimal, if any, competition. Katniss is fit to burst with pride in her younger sister.

She eventually finds Prim situated along the far wall of the room and crosses over to her. A small group of students is clustered around her display when Katniss arrives, listening in rapt attention as Prim identifies different organs and explains their known functions. Prim indicates each one in turn as she talks, using a long pointer she must have borrowed from her biology instructor.

"Hi there, Little Duck," Katniss greets her once most of the students have moved on to the next exhibit.

"Hi, Katniss!" Prim greets her happily, brushing her long blond hair away from her face.

Katniss takes a seat towards the rear of the booth as Prim turns her attention to the new students who have gathered in front of her exhibit. Katniss glances around the gymnasium as her sister talks with them, trying to find familiar faces. She doesn't see many.

Of course, Katniss really never socializes with any of her classmates anymore.

Katniss sighs in spite of herself. She refuses to dwell on the reasons why she no longer socializes with any of her classmates. She will _not_ think about Madge. Or Peeta. Not today. Today needs to be about Prim. Katniss is determined to be a helpful, supportive older sister and tries to put her own problems out of her mind.

Although, Katniss isn't certain what help she can _really_ give at this event. Prim is infinitely more knowledgeable about her project than Katniss is. But Katniss looks attentively at Prim as she talks all the same, ready to offer assistance if she needs it.

As the Science Fair draws to a close, the number of students milling about the gymnasium increases dramatically. This is typical, Katniss knows. Even students who are not terribly interested in the projects themselves are always eager to see which of their friends will win an award at the end of the event.

However, Katniss is actually a little surprised to see this many students here today. It's Friday, after all, and Friday afternoon is when the local _Hitler Jugend_ chapter holds its weekly meeting. And participation in this group among her classmates has never been higher.

Perhaps today's meeting was cancelled to encourage attendance at this Science Fair, Katniss muses. The Third Reich prizes scientific discovery, after all. Or, at least, Hitler wants the world to think it does. Either way, Katniss is relieved to see that none of the late-comers are wearing their hateful _Hitler Jugend_ uniforms.

Katniss has just begun to wonder when the teachers will finally announce this year's winners when suddenly, without warning, Peeta appears in front of Prim's display.

Peeta's hands are stuffed in his pockets and his eyes are riveted on Prim's project. Katniss is fairly certain he cannot see her, tucked as she is behind both Prim and the exhibit itself, but she instinctively shrinks into herself to avoid detection anyway, her heart lodged firmly in her throat.

"Prim!Oh, wow. This is incredible! How did you _make_ this?" Katniss hears him ask, clearly in awe of the artistry involved in making the model.

Prim animatedly explains the steps she followed in creating the body but Katniss, without meaning to, stops listening to her, fixing her eyes instead on the boy in front of her.

Katniss doesn't usually allow herself the luxury of looking at Peeta. After what she's done to him she doesn't feel she has the right. But they do have one class together, and there are times when she just can't help herself. On those occasions, and sometimes without even realizing she is doing it, she finds herself staring at this beautiful boy who used to be hers.

Perhaps because Katniss knows he can't see her right now, just this once she gives herself express permission to stare.

Peeta's getting taller, she notices. His shoulders are a little broader than they were last winter. He runs his hand through his hair as he talks with Prim and Katniss can see that he likely hasn't cut it in several months. His blonde curls keep falling into his eyes. She would give anything to be free to go over to him, right now, and brush his hair back from his face with her own hands. To see for herself if his broadening shoulders feel different than they did last year, if she would be able to notice a difference in how the muscles under his shirt feel under her fingertips.

He licks his lips once, absentmindedly, as he talks with Prim, and it is suddenly all Katniss can do to remain in her seat, to stay mindful of his mother's regular and explicit reminders to stay away from her son, to keep in mind her family's increasingly precarious situation.

She is saved from herself by the school principal's booming voice as he takes the stage and announces that the school has determined this year's winners.

Katniss' eyes, along with everyone else's in the room, snap towards the school principal. She listens anxiously as he reads off the list of winners one by one – first by class year, and then by category – waiting impatiently for him to call out Prim's name.

But he never does.

After reading the last student's name the principal climbs down from the stage and walks around the room to each of the excited winners, congratulating them each in turn.

Katniss looks over at her sister when the principal leaves the gymnasium. Prim's eyes are wide and her shoulders are quivering slightly.

Katniss runs over to her and gathers her into her arms.

* * *

"I don't understand why this surprises you, Katniss," Gale whispers to her over dinner that night.

It's Friday evening and the Everdeens are celebrating _Shabbat_ at the Hawthornes' house. Katniss does not want to discuss what happened today at the Science Fair in front of everyone – especially not in front of Prim and the younger children – and she shoots Gale a look that she hopes tells him that now is not the time. Fortunately, it seems to work and he shuts up.

But after everyone has finished eating, Gale quickly excuses them both. Katniss is a little taken aback at his forwardness but she follows him outside anyway and sits down next to him on the front porch.

"Why would you say that?" Katniss snaps at him once they are alone. "You know how hard Prim worked on that model. You saw yourself how incredible it is!" She turns away from him. "It was the best exhibit at the entire Fair. I can't believe she didn't win a prize – not even the one for her year."

"I remember what those Fairs are like, Katniss. _And_ the kinds of projects most kids put together. And I'm sure you're right. I'm sure it was the best one there." Gale turns her chin with the tip of his index finger so she has to face him. "But you know that isn't what I'm talking about."

She does. Katniss takes a deep breath and closes her eyes before responding. It's only a little above a whisper when she does. "It isn't supposed to be like this for her."

And until now, it hasn't been.

In truth, over the past few years Prim's school experience has not been so very different from that of many of her non-Jewish classmates. Prim does have to deal with the very occasional anti-Semitic jeer from a classmate, but it's a rare occurrence. She has not had to cope with anything even close to the regular taunts and even physical abuse that Katniss and Gale's brothers cope with almost every single day. And before today, Prim – unlike Katniss, and unlike her Jewish friends – has not faced any significant discrimination from teachers.

Their family never talks about it. But the Everdeens and Hawthornes all believe that Prim's better treatment at school must be due to her blonde hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. In a room full of German students, teachers and other students who have never met Prim before regularly assume she is no different from anyone else. And so that's how most people at school generally treat her: like just any other, _Aryan_, eleven-year-old girl.

"I know, Katniss," Gale says, not unkindly. "I know things have been… easier, for her. Because of… well, because of how she looks." He says that last part quickly. "But the school administrators know that she's Jewish. They know who all the Jewish students are, even if some of the teachers and a lot of the students don't." He rubs the back of his neck. "_Der Fuhrer_ and his government take scientific research very seriously. Or so they claim." He shrugs. "A school would _never_ let a Jewish girl win any sort of prize at a science fair."

Katniss closes her eyes before saying anything in response. "Prim's just devastated, Gale," she says quietly, even though Gale already knows that. "She didn't say anything to me on the way home. Not a single word." She buries her face in her hands. "I hate this for her," she mumbles into her hands.

Gale puts his arm around Katniss' shoulders then and pulls her closer to him. Katniss' body stiffens slightly. Although she has known Gale her entire life, and considers him to be her only true friend left, this gesture is entirely new. And foreign.

"I hate this too. For all of us," Gale murmurs into her hair. He gently kisses the top of her head – another first. She can feel her body stiffen further.

They sit quietly together for a long moment, Gale's arm still around her shoulders, his face pressed into her hair. He feels entirely relaxed beside her, which contrasts dramatically with the way _she_ is feeling.

Katniss is suddenly tempted to bolt for the relative safety of the Hawthornes' sitting room. But her legs feel like they are made of lead.

"We could do it you know," Gale says eventually. "Leave Germany. You and me. We could make it."

His words snap Katniss out of her uneasiness and she turns to look at him. She cannot believe what he's saying. It makes no sense. "What are you _talking_ about, Gale?" she asks him.

"We wouldn't need much money if we just snuck across the border," he continues, as if she hadn't spoken at all. "There are people crossing over into Switzerland, into Austria… every day." He nods. "Sae told me that –"

"Gale," she cuts him off forcefully. He stops talking and turns his head a little to look at her. "We _cannot_ sneak into another country with my ailing parents, my little sister, and your entire family." She shakes her head. "It's impossible. And I am _not_ going anywhere without them." The idea is preposterous.

Gale doesn't respond at first. "All right. Just… just forget I said anything." But she can hear what sounds like real disappointment in his voice. His fingers fidget a little against her arm, making her nervous again. "I just wish there were… something I could do to make things better. For our families." He pauses. "For you," he says, more quietly.

Katniss doesn't know what to say in response to any of this. This conversation is confusing her. And, when she combines what he's saying to her with how his body is positioned beside hers, his arm still around her…

"Gale…" she begins, but trails off.

She needs to go back into the house, she decides. Now. She turns from Gale and moves to stand up.

"Katniss," he says quickly, catching hold of her arm before she can leave. "I…"

And without another word he closes the distance between them and kisses her.

All her mind registers at first is shock. Shock that he is kissing her. Shock at the fact that she is not pulling away. But as time passes and Gale keeps kissing her, she begins to kiss him back and starts to feel… other things. A sudden realization that she doesn't want to pull away from his kisses. That she _wants_ to kiss him back.

Gale is the first to break away.

"I love you," he blurts out, looking into her eyes, his breath coming a little heavier than usual, his eyes dark and penetrating.

Katniss caresses his cheek. "I know," she tells him. And she does. She suddenly realizes that she's always known.

As soon as the words are out of her mouth Katniss knows this isn't the response Gale was hoping for. His face falls and he drops his arms from where they'd been resting at the small of her back.

He stands up abruptly. "We should go inside." He walks to the front door, opens it, and enters his home without waiting for her to join him.

* * *

The next day, Katniss replays her kiss with Gale – and what happened afterwards – over and over again in her head.

Katniss knows she should be focusing on her work instead. But ever since Papa collapsed two months ago at the shop – it hadn't been another heart attack, Herr Doctor had insisted; merely a "scare" – on his doctor's recommendation, Papa only works four days a week now. Today is one of his days off, and so she and Gale are working together, alone, all day. She just can't help but let her mind wander.

Gale won't look her in the eye. Instead of the easy banter they normally share when they work, he is short with her on the few occasions he is unable to avoid talking with her. And for the first time in the more than ten years she has worked with Gale, Katniss takes her lunch by herself, eating her small piece of chicken alone in the back room after Gale abruptly tells her he needs to go for a walk "to clear my head."

She knows Gale is upset about how she responded to his declaration of love yesterday. So Katniss knows that on some level, the way Gale is acting is her fault. But she also feels that Gale is not being entirely fair. His actions last night took her by surprise and the words were out of her mouth before she even realized what she was saying.

Even if in retrospect, Katniss recognizes she probably _should_ have known that Gale had feelings for her – the look he gives her whenever she touches his arm; the gifts he gives her on her birthday and other occasions – the fact remains that before yesterday Gale had never once acted on these feelings.

But was her reaction only due to surprise? What if she had been prepared, Katniss wonders? What if she had somehow known that he was going to kiss her last night and tell her he loves her? Would she have told him that she loves him, too?

Katniss thinks about these questions until her head spins. But the truth is… she doesn't know.

The only thing she _does_ know is that Gale's kiss didn't feel anything like her kisses with Peeta.

Katniss does not know how many times she kissed Peeta. A hundred, five hundred, a thousand times, perhaps? It doesn't matter. Every time she kissed him – whether it was the first or the thousandth time – her stomach was filled with butterflies, and the longer she kissed him the hungrier she grew for more.

Gale's kiss hadn't felt like that at all. She knows she wanted Gale to keep kissing her, and that she had wanted to keep kissing him. But what his kiss made her feel was… safe. His kiss felt like being known. Like being cared for by someone who she knows would do anything to protect her. It felt wonderful – but it was not remotely like what she felt with Peeta.

She knows that Gale is important to her and that he always will be. But is that the same thing as _loving_ Gale?

No matter how long Katniss ponders these questions she just cannot come up with any answers that satisfy.

By the time Gale returns from his walk – still not talking to her, not even looking at her – Katniss' head is spinning.

Later, as Katniss closes the shop for the day, she finds herself grateful for the small mercy that, at the least, this was not Fraü Mellark's regular week to visit the shop. Had Katniss been forced to endure her monthly reminder that she is to stay away, forever, from the boy she _knows_ she loves, today of all days, she would not have been able to bear it.

* * *

When Katniss arrives home that evening there is a letter from Madge waiting for her on the kitchen table.

"Papa, can we wait to go over the books until after dinner?" she asks him, excitedly, clutching the letter in her hands, Gale instantly forgotten. Madge still writes to Katniss but not as frequently as she used to. A letter from her old friend has become a special treat.

"Of course, _Liebchen_," Papa tells Katniss with a smile from where reclines in the sitting room. Papa's doctor wants him to rest, now, whenever he is not working. To his family's great surprise, Papa is following all of his doctor's advice with minimal complaint. Gone, apparently, is the Papa who was too proud to have his daughter spend more than ten hours per week working in the family business.

(Katniss is glad for the drastic change in him – it's the only way Papa will be able to avoid a further deterioration of his health, the doctor assures them – but it frightens her as well. How poorly must Papa truly be feeling to agree to this change as readily as he has?)

Permission granted, Katniss thanks him and dashes off to her bedroom. Prim is there, lying on her bed, propped up on her elbows and drawing a picture of their cat in a notebook. Katniss sits at their desk and eagerly breaks the seal on the back of the envelope.

The letter is shorter than usual. Katniss tries to stem her disappointment and begins to read.

_Dear Katniss:_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_I know that it's been a long time since I've written. I apologize for that, dear friend. _

_I don't know what news reaches you in Frankfurt, but life in Austria has been more unstable than my father predicted it would be when we came here. The skirmishes I described in my last letter to you escalated into an actual civil war. Fortunately, the fighting all remained far from Salzburg. But given Father's position in the government there was a brief period of time when he and Mother thought we might have to move again – this time to Switzerland._

_Fortunately, it seems that the worst is behind us now. Austria has a new government. Although Father does not much care for the new men in power, we are hopeful that they will, at the very least, be able to prevent another armed conflict from arising here. Hopefully I should be able to write you with more regularity going forward._

_On a happier note, our new city remains as breathtakingly beautiful as ever. And the _music_! Everything they say about Austrian music is true. We were able to get tickets to the Salzburg Music Festival last summer. You would have loved it._

Madge devotes most of the rest of her brief letter to a description of the boy who is presently trying, and failing, to woo her. Madge is very clear in her letter that she has no interest whatsoever in this young man. Her irreverent description of the situation makes Katniss laugh.

Madge ends the letter with:

_I know that life in Germany has become increasingly difficult for the Jewish people living there. You and your family are, as always, in my thoughts. _

_I hope that someday, somehow, you and I will meet again._

_Until that time,_

_Your friend, _

_Madge_

Katniss folds the letter neatly and places it on the desk. It is difficult to get any reliable news of other countries from official channels anymore, and Madge's letter was the first she had heard that Austrians had been facing any sort of difficulties.

She hopes that Madge is right and that the worst is behind them. But she cannot help but worry for her old friend.

At least one of them deserves to have an easy life and a government she can trust to protect her, Kantiss decides. And she hopes that even if she herself cannot have these things, Madge will.

* * *

It doesn't take long to go over the books with Papa that evening.

Gale and Katniss have decided that until such time as Papa regains his full strength, the two of them will do what they can to keep the true nature of the shop's finances from him.

Because the truth is, so many of their old customers have abandoned them that the shop is barely even making a profit anymore. In recent weeks Katniss and Gale have even begun discussing whether it would make better business sense for them to sell the business to a non-Jewish owner and split the proceeds between the two families.

Neither of them has breathed a word of any of this to Papa.

Katniss feels badly about this deception. But she also agrees with Gale that it is for Papa's own good. Knowing the true state of things would bring him nothing but additional stress. And as Gale has repeatedly said, it isn't as if Papa would be able to do anything about the situation even if he did know.

Every Saturday evening Papa insists on reviewing the shop's books with Katniss. In preparation for this weekly meeting, every Saturday afternoon Katniss goes over the books ahead of time with Gale, seeing as he has a monetary interest in the shop too. At the end of this meeting they discuss the best strategy for whitewashing the situation so her father will not become even more suspicious than their increasingly spartan dinners have almost certainly already made him.

Of course, because of Gale's reaction to last night's events, Katniss did not meet with him today. But there was little enough business at the shop today that she managed, by herself, to create a dummy ledger to show Papa in lieu of the real one.

"This doesn't look too terrible, _Liebchen_," Katniss' Papa tells her as he reviews what she hastily drafted before closing the shop today. (It is important, she and Gale decided, not to make the numbers look _too_ good; if they do he'll become suspicious immediately.) "Business is not as robust as we'd like it to be, of course. But we can work with this. With numbers like these the Everdeens and the Hawthornes will certainly be able to eat this month."

She swallows the lump in her throat and tries not to think about the hunting – poaching, really – she has been doing, after school, with her bow at the _Stadtwald_; or about the fishing Gale has done there in the small lake. It is these foraging activities, rather than any sort of profit from the shop, that has been feeding the Everdeens and Hawthornes the past two months.

_It's for Papa's own good_, she tells herself again, as she must every time they have these meetings. _He cannot know the truth._

"So," he clears his throat, the signal Papa has used her entire life to signal when he's about to change the subject. He lays the false ledger aside before continuing. "You and Gale left the dinner table awfully quickly last night."

Katniss says nothing.

"He's a very nice boy, Gale is. A good, hardworking man." Papa continues, filling the silence in the room. He nods then and looks at Katniss with an expectant look on his face.

"Yes. He is," she says. She knows her Papa wants more from her by way of response, but this is the only one she feels capable of giving.

"Gale loves his family. _Your_ family, too," he notes. "There's nothing more important than love of family."

Katniss does not want to have this conversation with Papa right now. Perhaps not ever.

"Papa, it's been a long day. I think I'll go to bed." She stands up and starts to walk out of the room.

As Katniss walks by his chair Papa takes her arm, preventing her from leaving until he says his last piece. "You could do a lot worse, _Liebchen,_" he says gently, but firmly.

At her father's words Katniss suddenly realizes, for the first time, that separate from the issue of whether she actually loves Gale, it would be incredibly easy to fall into a life with him. A life with the hardworking, Jewish boy she has known all her life, who loves her. Who her family loves.

"Goodnight, Papa," she says instead.

* * *

The following Friday, Katniss walks to the school library after the bell signaling the end of the school day rings. Prim will be working with her biology instructor for two more hours on a special assignment, she knows. She decides she might as well get started on her schoolwork while she waits for Prim to finish her day.

Katniss will not allow Prim to walk home alone on Fridays. Their classmates are crueler than ever on Fridays, especially after the weekly _Hitler Jugend_ meeting adjourns. After two hours of listening to anti-Semitic propaganda and engaging in vigorous strength-building and endurance exercises, it's as though liquid hate courses through their veins instead of blood.

Two Fridays ago, Vick Hawthorne had his nose broken by a group of _Hitler Jugend _boys five years older than him, fresh from their weekly meeting. Vick's only crime had been dawdling too long after school on a Friday. Even if Prim does look _Aryan_ (the vile word sticks in Katniss' throat; she can never say it out loud), if she crossed paths on a Friday afternoon with a boy who happened to know that Prim is Jewish, Katniss is terrified that her sister's nose could be broken as well. Or worse. After all,the _Hitler Jugend_ doesn't treat Jewish girls any better than Jewish boys.

Katniss has been sitting in the library for about twenty minutes, trying to puzzle out her math schoolwork, when she hears a familiar voice from outside the library.

"Cato, hurry up! We're going to be late."

Katniss looks up and in the direction of the voice. It's practically reflexive, really, the way she glances towards the sound of Peeta's voice whenever she hears it. She just can't help herself. She's certainly tried.

This time, however, when she sees him she recoils in horror.

Peeta is leaning against the corridor wall, apparently waiting for Cato. He is wearing a brown button-up shirt, a dark necktie, and black shortpants paired with black _leiderhosen_. Peeta's hair is cropped very short on the sides but the hair on top remains as long as it was when she saw him last week at the Science Fair.

She has never seen Peeta look like this before. But she's seen plenty of their classmates wearing these exact clothes, with their hair cut in this exact style.

Right now, he looks just like any other proud member of the _Hitler Jugend_.

"PEETA!" Katniss screams in shock, in horror, before she can stop herself.

Peeta hears her scream and turns to face her through the open library door.

She knows the handful of other students in the library must be staring at her as well. Katniss does not care, and she does not apologize for disturbing them. She cannot tear her eyes from Peeta. From what he has apparently become.

Katniss runs into the corridor then, operating purely on instinct, her books forgotten, Prim momentarily forgotten. She stops in front of him. She glares. "How… how _could_ you, Peeta?" she whispers to him through clenched teeth.

"Katniss –" he begins, his voice sounding pained, his eyes wild. He raises his hands in front of himself as if to calm her.

But she turns her back on him before he say anything else. She doesn't know what to do, but she cannot just stand there. So she runs.

He chases after her down the corridor. "KATNISS!" he shouts. "Katniss, PLEASE! Wait! PLEASE!"

She runs into an empty classroom and slams the door behind her. Of course, she doesn't have the key, so she cannot lock it, and he follows her inside a few moments later and gently, slowly closes the door.

He tries again once they are alone.

"Katniss, please – let me explain…" he begins.

She doesn't want to talk to him. She doesn't even want to _look_ at him.

"There's nothing to explain, Peeta" she interrupts, her eyes averted. "I… I know you must hate me. For what I did to you." She shakes her head. "I just can't believe that you would do _this_. How _could_ you, Peeta?" she asks him for the second time.

"This is not what it looks like, Katniss. I swear." He is pleading with her. He crosses over to her and tries to get her to look at him.

She takes a large step backwards and crosses her arms over her chest, regretting that she left the library, that she came to talk to him in the first place. She glances at the door and chides herself for letting him position himself between her and the room's only exit.

When she doesn't respond Peeta continues. "I really… I really can't tell you what's happening. Or I shouldn't tell you, anyway. It's… it's dangerous. What I'm doing." He swallows. "I can get in a lot of trouble if anyone finds out. I don't want you to get in trouble too."

He steps forward once more and puts his hands on her crossed arms. She still can't look at his face but she looks down at his hands. "But please believe me when I say that all of _this_," he gestures to what he's wearing, to his hair, "is not real." He shakes his head. "I need them to believe it is. That I'm a good member of the – of that group." He seems unable to say it. "But it isn't real. None of it is real."

She finally looks at him. He looks absolutely desperate.

She doesn't know what Peeta's talking about or what he's doing. But she looks into his eyes and what she sees there convinces her beyond a shadow of a doubt that whatever it is he's trying to tell her, it's the truth.

"Peeta –"she begins.

But he interrupts her. "I know you don't want me anymore, Katniss. I can… well, I've _been_ living with that." His words are a dagger to her heart and she winces involuntarily. But he swallows, closes his eyes, and continues as if she hadn't reacted at all. "But I couldn't live with it if you thought I was one of them. I know I couldn't." He opens his eyes and begs, once more, "Please, Katniss. Believe me."

She nods. "I believe you, Peeta. I do."

He sighs audibly and buries his face in his hands.

"You… you really can't tell me what you're doing?" she asks him tentatively.

"I can't." He looks her in the eye. "I shouldn't. I probably shouldn't have even told you what I already have." He shakes his head a little. "But please – know that I'm – that we're – trying to help." He laughs a little then, but there's no mirth in it. "Although I don't think it's going to accomplish much in the end."

Neither one of them speak again for a long moment. Katniss doesn't know what to say. Peeta doesn't look like he does, either.

Eventually Peeta clears his throat and tells her, "Well. I… I need to go now, I think. They'll be wondering where I am." He gives her a sad smile.

And it breaks her.

Katniss moves closer to him before she can talk herself out of doing it, and she takes his face in her hands and kisses him.

It's a simple, chaste kiss. The fact that they're in a classroom, and the fact that he needs to rush off in a moment to a _Hitler Jugend_ meeting to carry out some secret plan, weighs upon them both, and Katniss holds herself back with restraint she can barely believe she possesses.

But it is the first time she has touched him, the first time they have kissed, in nearly a year. And he whimpers at the contact.

She pulls away from him after a long moment, even though she doesn't want to, ignoring her body's insistent demands that she keep kissing him and never let him go.

Her hands still cradle his face when he says, weakly, "Katniss… what…?" He can't finish the thought but she knows what he's trying to ask.

She kisses the tip of his nose gently, so gently. He closes his eyes, seems to be trying to memorize the feel of her hands, her lips, on his face. "I didn't want you to keep thinking I don't want you," she whispers to him.

She knows she shouldn't say these things to him. If his mother _ever_ found out…

But she can't help herself.

His eyes go wide at her words. "You… you still want me?" he asks, incredulous.

She nods. "I do, Peeta. I… I will always want you." And she knows, with sudden certainty, that it's the absolute truth.

She kisses him again, more forcefully. Peeta wastes no time, wrapping his arms around her waist as if he thinks she'll vanish into thin air if he doesn't move quickly enough.

When she does pull away a moment later he murmurs, "Please come back to me, Katniss. _Please_." He is pleading now – begging – his voice unsteady in her ear, his arms tight around her body.

"I can't, Peeta." This is also the truth.

"I don't understand, Katniss. If you _want_ me, then –"

She silences him by gently placing her index finger over his lips. He closes his eyes again.

"You aren't the only one who needs to keep secrets for your own safety."

She knows this doesn't satisfy him, that he wants to know more. Wants to know everything. But he doesn't speak again.

"You need to leave now, I think," she tells him. "They'll be wondering where you are."

She's simply echoing his words from earlier, and he knows she's right. He moves away from her then, wordlessly, and crosses over to the door.

Before he walks through it he looks back at her over his shoulder for a long moment, his eyes pained.

"I love you, Katniss," he tells her.

And then he is gone.

* * *

Prim tells Katniss all about her new science project on the walk home from school.

Katniss is trying very hard to listen. She is. And she does manage to catch a few snippets of what she is saying here and there.

It's difficult, though. She keeps slipping away, thinking back to those few stolen moments with Peeta in the empty classroom.

It had felt good – _so good - _to be with him like that. Even if only for a few moments. Even if it can never happen again.

And it never _can_ happen again. Because she isn't as brave as Peeta. Not even close. If she dares defy Peeta's mother by being with him – or if she tells Peeta what his mother has been threatening, what she has been doing to her – it would ruin everything. And she cannot risk that. Not with Papa so ill. Not with her family, and Gale's family, so close to financial ruin as it is.

If nothing else, Katniss thinks to herself, ruefully, this afternoon has thrown what she feels for Gale into very stark relief. Or, more accurately, what she _doesn't_ feel for him.

Katniss is so lost in her own head that after she enters her home, it takes her a few moments to recognize is something is very, very wrong.

Gale is there, and so is the rest of the Hawthorne family. Herr Doctor is in the corner attending to Mama, who is sitting catatonically in her chair. Rory is giving Prim a rib-shattering hug. Prim is sobbing. The younger Hawthorne children are playing together in the sitting room with a deck of cards but their faces are somber.

Katniss looks around her in complete bewilderment. Gale sees her, crosses over to her, takes her in his arms.

"Katniss," Gale tells her, gently. He brushes her hair back from her face. "Your Papa is dead."


	9. Chapter 9

_a/n: I'm breaking with tradition a bit by including both Katniss' and Peeta's POV in this chapter. I hope it's obvious which POV is being featured in each section. ;)_

_I am so thrilled that people seem to be enjoying this story. Thank you so much for all of your comments, follows, and favorites. And thanks, of course, to the tumblr ladies for their endless wit and wisdom._

* * *

_June, 1946; Lowell, Massachusetts_

_After the dinner dishes are put away, Peeta declares that he is not going to bed tonight until he finishes unpacking the rest of the house._

_Katniss dries her hands on her apron and looks around them, at the boxes piled haphazardly and everywhere. "Really?" she asks, a little incredulous. "Don't you think that's a bit… _ambitious_?"_

_Peeta shakes his head. "I won't be able to sleep tonight with the house like this, Katniss. I can't take it anymore." He actually sounds a little frantic, which amuses her. _

_But then again, he's always been the fastidious one._

_This little house has been theirs for two weeks now. But between Peeta's long hours at his new job and Katniss' increasing fatigue, they've lacked the time and energy to do much with the boxes that contain their meager worldly possessions other than rifle through them as necessary for needed items._

"_I'll stay up and help you, if you're determined to finish tonight," Katniss tells him. She can't let him do all this by himself._

_But he places one hand at the small of her back and guides her to their kitchen table. He sits her down gently in one of the two chairs. "No," he tells her, firmly. "You've been on your feet for hours already, cooking our dinner and washing the dishes. You let me do the rest."_

_Katniss sighs, frustrated. They have had some version of this discussion almost every day for the past six months. She knows it just proves how much he cares for her – and for their unborn child – but she is growing tired of being treated like an invalid._

"_I'm pregnant, Peeta," she tells him, trying, but mostly failing, to keep the agitation out of her voice. "Not crippled. And you must be exhausted. You've been at work all day." She places both hands on the table, then, and stands up awkwardly. _

_When Katniss sees Peeta's disapproving look she says, "Why don't we compromise? I'll unpack those boxes over there," she points to a relatively small pile near the front door, "and you do the rest. All right?_

_She knows he'll never agree to letting her do more than this token amount of unpacking, but at least this is _something_ besides just sitting in a chair, useless. She is relieved when he agrees to her suggestion._

_Katniss moves towards the front door and removes the lid of the topmost box. She pulls out some bedding and a pillow, but quickly realizes they were only packed in this box to protect the primary item, to keep it safe in transit. _

_She pulls the painting out of the box. She runs her fingers reverently over the canvas._

_Even though it – and she – have been in America for almost six years now, she still can hardly believe that she is holding it here, in the house she now shares with her husband._

_Peeta must have seen what she's looking at because he's suddenly right beside her, his arm around her shoulder._

"_This goes in the baby's room," she tells him in German. Ever since she joined him in America he's insisted on them both speaking English at home. But she still finds the language difficult, even after all this time, and he doesn't object when she lapses into their native tongue when she's feeling particularly tired or emotional._

_Peeta kisses her cheek._

"_I want his first memories to be of how much his parents love each other," she explains, although she suspects Peeta already knows her unspoken reasons. "And how much his grandfather would have loved him, too, if they'd been able to meet."_

* * *

_October, 1934; Frankfurt am Main_

After leaving Katniss behind in the classroom, Peeta sprints outside to the field where the _Hitler Jugend_ meets.

Now that the daze that Katniss' tender kisses put him in is starting to dissipate he realizes just how late he is going to be. And he starts to panic.

The group's leaders run it just like Peeta imagines any military leader would. After all, the Third Reich takes membership in this groupvery seriously. Boys who distinguish themselves in the _Hitler Jugend _are all but assured prestigious positions among _Der Führer's _elite militia when they are older.

As such, the SA members who lead the boys' _Hitler Jugend_ groups punish tardiness severely.

Peeta arrives at the field, out of breath, just as the radio broadcast of the national anthem is finishing. As he moves into his assigned spot in line he notices at least a dozen other stragglers arriving now as well. He relaxes a little when he sees them, knowing there will not be sufficient time at this meeting to punish them _all_.

Peeta glances around at his classmates and friends, all in their carefully-pressed military uniforms, standing up as straight as they can in their orderly rows. Each row is headed by an older boy bearing a flag depicting the twisted, black-on-red symbol of the Third Reich.

There must be at least four hundred boys here, he thinks to himself.

Peeta can hardly believe that this wildly popular after-school activity was reviled by everybody he knew as recently as two years ago. Even though he knows it's true.

Most of this meeting will be devoted to rigorous athletic activity, as usual. The point of this is to train them to become "Aryan supermen," the most ridiculous designation Peeta has ever heard. As much as he hates to admit it to himself, however, Peeta does not mind these physical challenges. He is stronger than a lot of his classmates – he's always been strong – and it feels _good_ to channel his terror and revulsion at being here in the first place into pinning others in wrestling matches, or into throwing the discus, or into running footraces.

But before the sporting events the boys are always required to sing a series of nationalistic songs and to listen to a weekly lecture. The lecture topics vary slightly from week to week but tend to revolve around the dual concepts of the superiority of the "Aryan race" and how Jews are barely human at all.

And of course, Peeta must sing along with them. And he must stand quietly, and convincingly feign rapt attention, during the lecture. He has no choice. He will be punished, and brutally, in front of everyone if he does anything else.

But they will never be able to control his _thoughts_. Even here, Peeta's mind remains his own.

So as the two uniformed SA leaders implore the dutiful boys standing in front of them to remain loyal to the Third Reich, to defend _Der Führer_ with their lives, and to uphold the image of the Aryan race as superior to all others, Peeta faces forward just like everyone else. But he ignores them.

He lets his mind wander back to the gentle way Katniss had cupped his face in her hands in the empty classroom just twenty minutes ago. He thinks of how soft her lips felt when she pressed them against his. Of how desperately he wants to be hers again.

As the lecture continues, Peeta surreptitiously fingers the pamphlets he stuffed in his pockets after school. And he prays to whoever might be listening that even if Katniss will never again be his, somehow, in some way, his small actions here will help her.

* * *

_November, 1934; Frankfurt am Main_

Katniss reclines in the oversized chair in her family's sitting room, exhausted.

The seven days since Papa's death have been nothing but a blur of work and obligation. This is the first moment she has had to herself since he died.

Katniss closes her eyes and luxuriates in this precious moment of quiet.

All last week Katniss and her family sat _shivah_ for Papa, the Jewish community's traditional week of mourning in which people come to the house to pay respects. It was not Katniss' idea to do this, and she is not at all certain that her kind, but reticent, Papa would have even wanted them to.

But their rabbi (who Katniss had only met twice in her life before Papa's funeral) insisted they sit _shivah_ for Papa all the same. Katniss and Prim did not have the mental or emotional strength to refuse what this authority figure was telling them to do and went along with his wishes.

And so in the week following Papa's death, instead of having time to properly grieve him, Katniss and Prim hosted what felt like an endless stream of well-intentioned acquaintances and neighbors – many of whom Katniss barely knew at all – as they brought covered dishes of food and offered condolences.

Officially, their mama was the hostess. But in reality, all of the _shivah_ responsibilities fell to Katniss and Prim. Mama has not left the bedroom she shared with Papa since he suffered the heart attack that killed him instantly. She sits alone all day now, her eyes vacant, completely unresponsive. It's a posture Katniss and Prim know well.

It was all Katniss could do, as people crowded around her and gave her their sad and knowing smiles, not to grab Prim's hand, run from the house, and never look back.

Gale's family did not leave her side the entire week. For their company, of course, Katniss was grateful. Gale, however, was not with them during the day because closing the butcher shop for a whole week is a luxury neither the Everdeens nor the Hawthornes can presently afford.

But Gale did visit every evening after he'd closed the shop. Katniss stayed up with him into the wee hours, every night that week, as they poured over the books and agonized over how their families were going to survive.

He frequently tried to hold her hand, those nights they spent huddled together over the books in her kitchen. He told her, again and again, that he wanted to take care of her, of her family. He asked her to let him try.

He promised her that he would never let them starve. "I won't," Gale vowed. "You _know_ I won't."

Katniss let Gale hold her hand. She was too sad, and too mentally and physically exhausted, to refuse that small comfort he offered. But she wouldn't – or, couldn't – agree to any of the rest of it. Or even acknowledge what he was telling her.

Because Katniss thought she knew what he was _really_ trying to say when he told her he wanted to take care of her, and she had too much to think about already without that added complication.

Today, though, the week of _shivah _is finally over. Katniss can focus on grieving Papa and on moving forward as best she can as the effective head of her household.

However, Katniss knows that in many ways, she has been preparing for this ever since Papa's first heart attack last winter. It will be easier to go on, she realizes now, than she had feared. This was a tragedy, of course, and she is devastated that her Papa is gone forever. But the tragic nature of the circumstances doesn't make any of it a surprise.

After another half hour lost in thought, Katniss decides she should write the school today. She needs to inform the administrators that she is withdrawing. She has no choice. Gale cannot run the shop by himself indefinitely, and the shop belongs to her as well as to Gale now that Papa is gone. If she stays in school both of their families _will_ starve, no matter what Gale might insist.

Katniss stands up from her chair and walks, slowly, to her bedroom where she stores her writing supplies. She has just taken pen to paper when she hears a soft knock at the front door of her home. Her heart sinks. _Not another mourner_, she thinks to herself, sullenly.

She walks to the foyer and opens the front door.

She blinks several times in surprise when she sees nothing at her door but a large, flat, rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper leaning against her home. Whoever must have knocked on the door is long gone.

There is a small note tucked into one corner of the package. She opens it and begins to read.

_Dear Katniss,_

_I am so sorry for your family's loss. I'm sure these words seem small and meaningless to you right now. And I know my telling you how sorry I am doesn't bring your father back. But it's true all the same and I wanted you to know it._

_I would give anything to be able to comfort you in person. I know that isn't what you want, though, so I promise to leave you in peace. _

_I thought you might like to have this painting. I did it about six months ago to help remind me of a happier time. I hope looking at it brings you as much comfort as painting it brought me._

_If you ever need me, Katniss, I am here. Always._

_ - P_

_P?, _Katniss thinks to herself, her legs suddenly shaky.

This can only be from Peeta.

She sits down on the porch before her legs can fail her and rereads the letter a second, a third time.

Peeta wrote this. And he painted a picture for her. Well, no – it wasn't for her originally, according to the note. He painted it for himself. But it's hers now. Peeta wants her to have it. She has something, now, that he made, that his beautiful artist's hands created.

Katniss' shaking hands go to the paper covering the painting. She cannot tear it off quickly enough.

When Katniss sees what's under the wrapping her mouth drops open and her hand goes to her cheek in shock.

It's a scene of her, with her Papa, from when she was a little girl. She is probably no more than five years old, her long dark hair in two braids flowing down her back. She and Papa are standing next to each other behind the counter of the butcher shop, looking at each other and smiling. She is standing on the box she used to stand on when she was very young and needed to fetch things that were just out of reach for her.

Her mouth in the painting is open slightly. It looks like she might be singing. Her Papa looks happier than she can remember him ever looking before in life. Her own cheeks are flushed, her eyes dancing and excited. Katniss has never seen a more radiant likeness of herself.

She runs her fingertips over the painting then, carefully, reverently. And she carries it into her home, pressing it tightly against her chest before the tears that suddenly prick her eyes have a chance to fall.

* * *

_March, 1935_

Peeta glares across the chessboard at Finnick, waiting impatiently for his brother's roommate to finally make his move.

"We don't have all day, Finn," Peeta complains.

Finnick draws deeply on the cigarette he's holding between his lips and waves Peeta off dismissively with his hand. "You can't rush perfection, Peeta," Finnick tells him as he exhales a mouthful of smoke, not taking his eyes off the board.

Peeta rolls her eyes. "Perfection. Right."

Streu and Annie stand behind them as they play, preparing their little group's dinner in the flat's small galley kitchen. Annie laughs her sweet, tinkling laugh at their banter.

"Peeta's right, dear," she chides Finnick gently. "We're almost ready to eat."

"Thank God." Johanna chimes in loudly from the sitting room, where she is leafing through a French newspaper. "I'm famished."

Streu walks over to the table then and picks up the chessboard before Finnick can stop him.

"Hey!" Finnick protests. "I was just about to move my rook!"

Streu laughs as he puts the chessboard away, careful not to disrupt any of the pieces. "It can wait, Finn," he says.

Peeta helps his brother set five place settings around the small table while Annie plates up the food. Johanna crushes out her cigarette in the ashtray in the center of the table, then punches Finnick playfully on the arm as she takes the seat across from him.

"Ow," Finnick cries, feigning pain and rubbing his arm theatrically.

Once they're all seated and eating, Streu calls this meeting, of sorts, to order.

"So," he begins. "I think we're all in agreement that this has been a failed experiment."

"Yes," Peeta answers quickly. "A complete waste of time." He shakes his head. "Unless, of course, our goals were to keep me up at night worrying about getting caught, and to force me to listen to Nazi propaganda every Friday afternoon. If that's what we were hoping to accomplish it was a resounding success."

"I don't know Peeta," Finnick says, shrugging, his tone suddenly serious. "Over the past four months we've distributed over five hundred pamphlets to _Hitler Jugend_ members.

Johanna stabs the air with her fork and gives a mirthless laugh. "That's a damn optimistic way of describing what we did, Finn"

Peeta nods. "She's right, Finnick. I don't think you can really call what we've done with those pamphlets 'distributing' them."

Since joining the _Hitler Jugend_ last October, Streu has sent Peeta to school on four separate occasions with pamphlets that he and Finnick wrote from information gleaned from their government jobs. They do not have high-level positions – they are little more than male secretaries, in truth, spending most of their time relaying messages, delivering telegrams, and taking dictation. But their low stature does not bother them, because their jobs make them privy to the sort of inside information they've been trying to get to the boys and girls of the _Hitler Jugend_.

Once, Streu gave Peeta pamphlets describing conditions at Dachau in a kind of graphic detail that the government has not made public to lay Germans.

Another time Streu wrote out a description of pending legislation that would strip German Jews of their German citizenship. This legislation, if and when it is implemented, would also prohibit marriages, and even sexual relations, between Jews and German non-Jews. Violation of that particular set of laws would be punishable by imprisonment… or death. (After reading that pamphlet Peeta became immediately and violently ill, vomiting up the contents of his stomach in the bushes outside the school.)

But despite Streu's and Finnick's high hopes for this project, Peeta never got the opportunity to distribute these pamphlets in any meaningful way. He couldn't just pass them out to the boys who stood near him in line. Not without risking detection, and punishment that would go far beyond the beating he might receive for being late to a meeting.

And so on the four occasions Peeta brought pamphlets to meetings he was unable to do anything with them aside from abandoning them in a pile near the back door of the school.

There is a chance, of course, that a few students, or perhaps the school groundskeeper, saw and read these pamphlets. But even if they had, what possible good would educating a small handful of people about the true nature of the Third Reich do?

"I never saw a single girl in my own _Hitler Jugend _group actually read any of the pamphlets I brought, Finn," Johanna says, echoing Peeta's thoughts. Johanna leads a girls' group on the other side of town that meets on Thursdays. "I don't think our work here did anything at all. Or not much of anything, anyway."

Finnick slams his fist on the table at her words, making Annie jump. "If even one person learned a thing or two from what we've done, at least we can say we did _something_."

"But at what cost, Finnick?" Johanna demands.

"I don't give a damn about any of that," Finnick retorts in a voice close to shouting. "Whatever the cost, it's worth it if Germany can be free of this madman." He turns to Annie and takes her hand. "If our children can be free," he continues in a quieter voice.

No one says anything else for a long moment.

"I think we all agree that getting rid of Hitler is worth whatever it might cost us, Finnick," Streu says, diplomatically. Annie, Johanna, and Peeta nod their assent. "But this project accomplished almost nothing." Finnick starts to protest, but Streu cuts him off with a wave of his hand. "_Almost nothing_, Finn," he repeats, emphasizing the words. "While putting us all at significant risk."

Streu pauses again before continuing. "I'm not saying we stop trying, Finn," he says, in an attempt to placate him. "I'm just saying we should try something else."

Finnick takes a deep breath. Lets it out.

"Fine," he says, seeming to realize he's been out-voted. He folds his arms across his chest. "Let's hear your ideas, then."

* * *

Peeta decides to take a detour after the meeting is over instead of going home right away.

Winter in Frankfurt was long and harsh this year, but the past few weeks have seen a slight thaw. Peeta thinks a visit to the _Stadtwald_ – to breathe in some fresh spring air, to see the newly-budding trees – would do him good.

The park is not far from Streu's flat. When the weather is fair Peeta will often ride his bicycle there after visiting his brother and stay for a spell before beginning the trek home.

Spending time here helps clear his head. And it reminds him of Katniss.

The weather has been so cold, however, that it's been several months since he's been to the park. Peeta, restless after a winter spent largely indoors, finds he's truly looking forward to this visit.

When Peeta arrives he sees he's not the only person who had the idea to come here today. There are not the picnicking families one normally sees during the summer, but several groups of people stroll idly along the small lake, all apparently glad for the respite from the cold.

Peeta leans his bicycle against a tree and starts walking towards the water himself. When he gets there, he sees a small figure perched on a large rock by the lakeshore, bundled in a large wool coat and clutching a fishing pole with hands clad in fingerless gloves. There is an empty burlap sack, and a wooden bow and quiver full of arrows, beside the rock.

The figure sniffles and turns her head to the side, slightly, as she coughs.

Peeta sees her face and freezes.

"K-Katniss?" he asks, incredulously, still several feet away from where she sits.

Katniss quickly turns her head in his direction at the sound of his voice.

"Peeta…" she says, smiling at him, shyly, but clearly surprised to see him.

He has not seen her – not once – since the day she kissed him in the empty classroom. Since the day her father died and she left school forever.

Peeta nearly trips over a tree root in his rush to her side. Katniss has not contacted him in any way since he left that painting for her last fall. He knows she likely doesn't want him to approach her like this, but he can't help himself. His legs move of their own volition.

He kneels down in front of her and takes her hand.

"Katniss, I –" he begins.

But the words dry up in his throat when he looks up and sees her face.

Peeta hasn't seen starvation before. Not really. He and his family are not wealthy, but they do live in a relatively comfortable part of town. He himself has always had enough to eat, as have all of his neighbors.

But as he takes in Katniss' dull and sunken eyes, her protruding cheekbones, the sallow pallor that covers her skin, there is no doubt in his mind that Katniss is starving.

"Katniss…" he breathes. "My God, what's _happened_ to you?"

Her eyes are lifeless as she looks at Peeta. It terrifies him. She smiles sadly and says, "Mama is gone again. She's been gone ever since Papa died." She swallows and closes her eyes. "It's just me that's left to take care of Prim and Mama both." She shakes her head slightly. Tries to smile again. "But no one wants to buy meat from a pair of Jewish teenagers."

Peeta strokes her hand gently, waiting for her to continue.

"I tried coming here, to this park, this winter to try and… and find food for us." She gestures to her fishing pole and bow. "It worked during the fall, when the weather was still warm, but…" She puts her face in her hands. "But this winter was too cold. There was almost nothing."

Peeta doesn't know if he has the right, but before he can stop himself he leans forward and folds her into his arms. He can feel her protruding ribs pressing into his chest and he has to fight back tears.

"Katniss," he says into her hair, weakly, not letting her go. "Why didn't you come to me? You know my family owns a bakery, I could have brought you –"

"No!" she cries out sharply, pulling away from him with a ferocity he can hardly believe she is capable of in her current state. "No, Peeta. I couldn't have asked you for anything."

"Katniss, please," he implores her, reaching his arms out to her once more. "Tell me why. _Why?"_ His voice is growing frantic. "You wouldn't have had to be my girl again – if, if that's not what you wanted - but I could have helped you and your family. It would have been _easy_ for me to help you."

Katniss says nothing in response to this at first. When she does speak, she does it so quietly it's almost as if she's speaking to herself.

"I suppose there's no point anymore." She looks away from Peeta and towards a fixed point in the distance. "Papa's gone. The shop is ruined. There's nothing she can do to me now."

Peeta does not understand any of what she's saying. He wonders, in alarm, if she might be delirious.

"Katniss?" he asks her, tenatively. "I don't understand."

"Your mother," she says, simply, as if this is all the explanation he could possibly need.

Peeta swallows. "My… my mother?" he asks her. His stomach clenches involuntarily, the way it always does whenever he thinks of her. But he still doesn't understand what Katniss is trying to tell him. "What about my mother?"

She takes his hand again and looks into his eyes. "The day after you left my house in the middle of the night… the day after we… we… were together…" she blushes slightly and drops his gaze. "Your mother came to my house."

Peeta nods. "Yes. And she told you we weren't selling to your family anymore. I know all of that, and I am still so sorry she did that to your family. But –"

Katniss interrupts him. "She also told me to stay away from you forever." She looks at him again, grim determination in her gaze. "She said some other things too. Called me horrible names and said she didn't want bastard Jewish grandchildren."

He starts to speak, horrified, but she shakes her head, indicating that she isn't finished yet. "She also threatened me and my family if I ever came near you again." She pauses and fidgets with the buttons on her coat. "She comes back to our shop once a month, the same time every month, to remind me."

"_What_?" he finally asks in a hoarse whisper. He is thunderstruck. Reeling. "My mother said those things to you? She… told you to stay away from me and _threatened you_ if you didn't?"

Katniss says nothing, only nods.

"Why didn't you just _tell_ me, Katniss?" he asks her, hysterical now. "We could have ignored her! I don't care what my mother says!"

Katniss' gaze turns stony at his words. "That's all well and good for you to say, Peeta" she snaps at him. "But my father had just had a heart attack. I had, and still _have_, a young sister to protect, and our family business has been on the verge of collapse for over a year." She looks away again. "I didn't tell you what she said to me because I was worried you would just laugh in her face and defy her. I couldn't risk it." She pauses again. "All she would have had to do was tell your brother Rye to come break some of our shop windows again… and we could have lost everything."

Katniss' words are a physical blow to him. _Rye_. He nearly falls to the ground.

But he doesn't. Instead, when she's done speaking, he slowly stands up.

He knows what he needs to do.

"I need to go home, Katniss," he tells her.

She takes his hand in hers. "It doesn't matter now, Peeta," she says. "My father is gone, our shop is all but gone. Prim will likely need to leave school soon to find work, so she won't be around people who might threaten or hurt her at your mother's request." Her eyes brim with tears. "I… don't have much left to lose anymore. Nothing, really. She can't hurt me anymore."

Peeta doesn't say anything in response. He gently, tenderly kisses the top of her hand. And then releases it.

"I'll see you soon, all right?" he tells her quietly.

And without another word he walks over to his bicycle and rides away.

* * *

Peeta decides to pack up as many of his things as possible before he confronts his mother. He likely won't have any time to do this afterwards, and he wants to make sure he can take at least a few changes of clothes and the possessions that mean the most to him.

He knows he will have to leave behind most of his paintings. Streu's flat is small, and Finnick will be living there too until he and Annie marry this summer. (Peeta tries to not think about how he has not actually _asked_ Streu and Finnick if he can move in with them. He hopes, however, that they will not turn him away, especially after he explains the situation.) Peeta selects the paintings he likes best and sets them to the side as he gathers up his clothes, letters from Delly, his best paint brushes, and a few other assorted keepsakes.

It's sunset by the time Peeta finalizes what to bring and what to leave behind. As his mother prepares dinner in the kitchen he makes multiple trips outside, via his bedroom window, with his belongings. He hides them underneath the neighbor's porch so that he can collect them either later tonight or tomorrow without detection.

His belongings safely stowed away, Peeta strides into the kitchen. When he sees his mother, her back to him as she prepares their family's dinner, he takes a deep breath and braces himself for what's to come.

"Mother," he says abruptly. "I need to talk to you."

She turns to face him. "Yes, Peeta?"

He pauses, gathering his courage. "I know what you've been telling Katniss. About how she needs to stay away from me, and how you've been threateningher if she doesn't."

The right side of her mouth quirks up in what looks like a smirk. "Oh really?" she asks him. "And _how_ do you know all of that?"

"I think you can guess," he spits at her.

She chuckles then. "I guess she didn't listen to me, hm? Well. I guess I'm nSot surprised. Jews aren't terribly smart. If that filthy little Jew had half a brain, and knew what was good for her, she'd have –"

But her words are cut off when Peeta slaps her across the face. She is knocked off her feet – either from the blow itself or from shock, Peeta isn't certain – and lands on the floor.

"You told her you didn't want any bastard Jewish grandchildren," he yells, towering over her. "Well, you don't need to worry, Mother. Because I am not your son anymore. And our children won't _be_ your grandchildren."

He storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

He runs next door to the bakery and quickly opens it. He knows he doesn't have much time, and he needs to make every second count.

There isn't much bread left, of course. There never is at this hour. But he manages to find two leftover loaves that didn't sell today.

They are a little burned, Peeta notices. But scorch marks notwithstanding, they should be more than edible.

Peeta tucks a loaf of bread under each arm and turns to leave. Before he makes it out of the bakery, however, his mother reappears.

"THIEF!" she screams at him. Her eyes are wild, and he can see the angry red welt his hand left across her face. "If you are not my son anymore, then go. _Go. _Go off and be with your Jewish whore. I don't care anymore where you go or who you are with. But you will _not_ steal my property!"

And she takes a broom from behind her back and begins beating him with the handle – his back, his shoulders, his face – everywhere she can reach.

In the end, however, she is simply no match for her seventeen-year-old son. He punches her in the face, just once, with all the strength he possesses. She crumples into a heap, unconscious.

Peeta steps over his mother and takes the stairs of the bakery two at a time. When he is outside he quickly puts the two loaves of bread in the basket of his bicycle and races away.

* * *

It is fully dark, and starting to rain a little, by the time Peeta reaches her house.

He runs up the steps of her porch, his damp hair plastered to his forehead, the loaves of burned bread in his arms. He is about to knock on the door when it opens on its own, Katniss appearing in the doorway in a blue housedress.

"Peeta!" she exclaims, clearly surprised to see him. She takes in his damp form. "What… what are you doing here?"

She gestures for him to come into the house and out of the rain. He quickly complies.

Once inside she rushes off to get him a towel. He takes it from her gratefully and rubs it over his head and face.

"What are you doing here, Peeta?" she asks him again once he's dried off a little.

He opens his mouth to answer her. But he closes it again when he realizes that he has no idea where to begin. He chastises himself for not thinking of something to say to her on the way over.

"I, uh…" he begins, lamely, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He is suddenly inexplicably nervous.

She glances down at the bread in his arms. "Did you… did you bring these for us?" she asks him.

"Yes," he tells her quickly, grateful that she has provided him this opening. "Yes. We had some leftover bread today and… and I thought…"

He trails off at the alarmed expression he sees spreading across her face now that she can see him clearly. "Peeta," she says in a hushed voice thick with concern. Her eyes are dart quickly all over him. "What _happened_ to you?"

"What do you mean?" he asks her.

She reaches out then, tentatively, and touches the area under his right eye. Her touch is gentle but the pain he feels at the contact is immediate and excruciating.

"Aaaahhh," he cries out, in spite of himself.

"Peeta," she says. "Sit down. Please, tell me what happened."

And so he does.

He tells her everything. About the altercation he had with his mother. What he told her, and what she told him. He told her about the things he stowed away under his neighbor's porch and about his plans to live with Streu.

Katniss listens to everything he says without interruption. Only when he is finished does she finally speak. "You did that… all of that… for me?" she asks him quietly.

"No, Katniss," he tells her, shaking her head. "Not really. I think…" he clears his throat. "I think I did it for me, actually." He chuckles a little. "I've hated her my whole life. And I'm nearly a grown man now anyway. Learning what she did to you…" he shakes his head. "Let's just say it was the final push I needed."

Neither of them say anything more for a long moment after that.

"I want you to have these," he tells her eventually, gesturing to the bread. "You need them. You're starving. Please, take them."

Katniss looks at him and smiles. "Thank you, Peeta. For the bread. For… everything."

He smiles back at her.

"I should probably leave now," Peeta tells her, standing up. He doesn't want to leave; he wants to take her into his arms and tell her he never intends to let her go. But he doesn't want to overstep whatever boundaries might exist between them now after so much time apart. "I need to talk to Streu and let him know he's got himself another roommate." That much, at least, is true.

She puts her hand on his arm. "Don't go," she tells him. "It's raining, Peeta. And I want to look at your face before you leave. Prim has medicine I can put on it." She gives his arm a slight tug and he sits back down. "Please. Stay a little longer."

He finds himself unable to refuse.

"I'll stay," he agrees. "And you can look at my face. But first, you eat."

* * *

They wait and they wait, but the rain doesn't let up that night.

By ten o'clock they decide it would probably be best if he simply sleeps here and makes for Streu's flat first thing in the morning.

The decision made, Katniss takes Peeta by the hand and leads her to her bedroom.

Peeta clears his throat. "Where… where's Prim?" he asks, his voice cracking on the last word, making him cringe inwardly.

"She's sleeping at a friend's house tonight," she tells him.

"Ah," he says. "And... your mother is…"

"In her room," Katniss finishes for him. "Completely oblivious."

Peeta finds himself at a sudden loss for words.

"Peeta," Katniss fills in the silence for him. "I think… I think you should take Prim's bed tonight. It'll be much more comfortable than the couch."

He nods. "That's fine," he tells her. He tries, and mostly fails, to quell the rising feeling of disappointment over not being allowed to sleep in _Katniss'_ bed tonight. He knows this disappointment is ridiculous, of course – they've barely seen each other in over a year. They're hardly more than strangers now.

But he's disappointed all the same.

"You don't have any nightclothes," she tells him abruptly.

"I suppose that's true," Peeta says, smiling nervously.

"Wait right here," she says, and hurries down the hall.

She comes back a moment later bearing striped pajamas.

"There were Papa's," she explains.

Peeta raises his hands in protest. "Katniss, I can't wear these. They were _his_," he tells her.

"Nonsense," she says. "You need nightclothes. Here are some nightclothes that will fit you." She looks into his eyes. "Go ahead and change in here. I'll… I'll get ready for bed in the bedroom."

She hands him the pajamas and goes into her bedroom without another word.

When Peeta enters her room a few minutes later, wearing the proffered pajamas, the room is dark. He feels around blindly for a few moments until he reaches the bed that he knows must be Prim's. He turns down the blankets and climbs inside.

"Goodnight, Peeta," Katniss tells him. Her voice is very close to his ear, suddenly, and he can just barely make out the outline of her form hovering over him in the darkness.

She sits down on Prim's bed then, right next to him. She stretches, bends over him and kisses him on the lips. She brushes the front fringe of his hair away from his forehead.

He thinks his heart might beat right out of his chest.

Peeta reaches up his hand and gently touches her face.

"Goodnight, Katniss," he says back to her, his voice shaky. She gives him another gentle kiss.

He expects her to move away from him after that, but she doesn't. She lies down next to him on Prim's bed and lays her head on his chest. He tentatively wraps his arms around her. He's afraid that if he moves too much this dream will shatter. He's afraid to even breathe.

"I have nightmares almost every night," she tells him in a whisper, by way of explanation. "Is this… is this all right?"

He nods his head, unable to speak. With a shaky hand he begins to gently caress her hair.

Within minutes she is fast asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

_a/n: I'm so sorry that it's been such a long time between updates! My lame excuse is that I have had a fairly hectic few weeks (and, uh, I accidentally/on purpose started a couple of other WIPs, perhaps against my better judgment?). Unfortunately, my next few weeks are still looking fairly intense, real-lifewise, which means there may be yet another several-week wait for the next chapter of this story._

_To the extent I have time to work on my stories, this one will be my primary focus until at least November, when my real life schedule will calm down considerably. _

_I plan to intersperse Peeta's and Katniss' POV in most chapters going forward. So we'll be hearing from both of them here. _

_Lastly - Thank you again to everyone who's reviewed this story and added it to their favorites and/or alerts. Your support means so much to me._

* * *

_March 1935, Frankfurt am Main_

It's nearly dawn when Katniss wakes.

Peeta is still sleeping, his warm body pressed against hers under the blankets in Prim's narrow bed.

She raises herself up on one elbow and turns a little to look at him.

And her heart catches in her throat.

She cannot believe that Peeta is here with her. That what happened yesterday was real.

Katniss can only just make out his features in the dim light filtering through her bedroom window, but the bruises already blooming under his right eye and on his neck are clearly visible even in the near darkness of the room. Katniss wonders if there are more bruises on his chest, hidden by her father's old nightshirt. Based on what he told her about his fight with his mother she thinks there must be.

Her anger flares at what Frau Mellark has done to them both.

But all of that is over now. Peeta has made sure his mother will never hurt either one of them again.

At a terrible cost to himself.

Katniss watches Peeta sleep for a long moment, this beautiful boy who has given up his family, and almost everything he has, to be with her and keep her safe. Eventually he begins to stir, mumbling her name into the pillow they share.

Unable to resist touching him any longer, Katniss gently brushes his hair away from his forehead. She leans over him and tenderly, so as not to wake him, kisses him there.

But it does wake him. Peeta's eyes flutter open and he looks up at her. Suddenly, Katniss begins to panic that in the harsh light of day, Peeta may regret what he's done.

The look of pure adoration he gives her as she pulls away from him puts her fears to rest immediately.

"I was worried it was all a dream," he whispers. "But… but you're right here."

Katniss nods and smiles at him. She takes his hand and holds it over her heart. He closes his eyes. "I am," she confirms. "And so are you, Peeta."

"Did you sleep well?" he asks her.

"I did," she murmurs. "The best night of sleep I've had in months." She smiles. "No nightmares."

"I'm glad," he says.

There is silence between them for another long moment, his hand growing warm over her breastbone, their faces only inches apart.

"I missed you," Peeta tells her quietly. He averts his eyes when he says it, and Katniss can feel the slight tremor running through him. She squeezes his hand. "I missed you so much, Katniss. There… there are no words."

She leans forward and kisses him, gently, on the lips. She rests her forehead against his.

"I missed you too, Peeta," she murmurs.

He swallows and lets out a shaky breath.

"I need to go soon and talk to Streu," he says. Their faces are so close together that she can feel his breath fan out across her lips as he speaks. It makes her feel a little dizzy. "But part of me is terrified that once I leave, I'll never see you again."

Katniss throws her arms around him, then, and presses little kisses to his neck, his cheek, everywhere she can reach without letting him go. "I am never, ever going to leave your side, Peeta," she tells him fervently, between kisses. "Never again."

He makes a noise in his throat that sounds like a sob as he wraps her up tightly in his own arms and holds her close.

* * *

Peeta stays for breakfast.

It isn't much of a breakfast. The only money that comes in anymore is what Uncle Haymitch sends them every month from America; and Katniss, out of pride and shame, hasn't told him the full extent of her family's financial woes. As such, there is nothing in the house to eat right now other than the leftover bread Peeta brought yesterday.

And he refuses to take even a single bite of it.

"No, Katniss," he tells her firmly when she offers him a slice. "That's for you and your family. I don't need it."

"But you haven't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, Peeta," she argues. His altercation with his mother had, after all, occurred just as Frau Mellark was preparing the family's evening meal.

"It doesn't matter," he tells her, waving his hand dismissively. "I'll make myself something to eat at Streu's flat."

Peeta does grudgingly accept the cup of tea she brews for him but won't let her put sugar in it. When she scowls at him he just shrugs. "I never take sugar in my tea, Katniss," he says, taking a delicate sip as he watches her take little bites of bread.

Peeta was dismayed last night when Katniss was unable to eat more than a few mouthfuls. In truth, she had to force down even those few mouthfuls, and it caused her stomach to ache for two hours afterwards.

It's been several weeks since her family has had enough food in its cupboards that Katniss has allowed herself to eat more than one meal per day. Last night's bread had actually been the first thing she had eaten in two days. And it is always physically difficult for her to start eating again once her fast extends beyond twenty-four hours.

"I need to find a job today, Katniss," Peeta tells her between sips of tea.

Katniss nods, frowning. This does not surprise her. After all, what choice does he have? He has disowned his parents, and they him. She doesn't know exactly what Streu does for the government, but she knows it is not a high-level position. He certainly cannot support both himself and his nearly-grown brother on his wages.

Katniss is very unhappy, for Peeta, that his decisions yesterday mean he has to leave school, and she tells him so.

"It's all right," he reassures her. "All I want to do is work in a bakery anyway." He smiles. The smile reaches his eyes, and she knows he's telling her the truth. "I already know how to bake, so there's nothing useful left for school to teach me." He reaches out across the table and takes her hand.

"Do you know where you might look for work?" she asks him, gently caressing the hand that holds hers with her thumb. Her own work options are extremely limited, being both a woman and a Jew. Peeta, of course, has no such limitations.

"Not yet," he admits, a little sheepishly. "I'm hoping Streu will have some ideas."

Katniss manages to finish the thick slice of bread Peeta cut for her in about fifteen minutes. Fortunately, the bread is easier for her to eat today. She can tell this pleases him. When she's eaten the last of it she walks him to the front door, still holding his hand.

As he opens it, he turns to her. "When can I see you again, Katniss?" The pleading tone in his voice makes her heart ache.

"Come by tonight for dinner," she blurts out without thinking. And she regrets it immediately. _What on earth am I going to serve him for dinner?_

But his face lights up like the sun at her words. "I will," he tells her, barely able to contain his excitement. "And I'll cook for your family. I'll bring everything – you just need to… to be here." His voice grows anxious once more.

"I will be," she promises. She leans up and kisses him on the cheek, and his face relaxes.

"Can I buy a chicken from your shop?" he asks. "I'll roast a chicken for you tonight."

Katniss can't look him in the eye when she answers him. "We… don't stock meat anymore, Peeta. We can't." She covers her face with her hands. "Gale and I are trying to sell the shop."

Herr Everdeen's butcher shop had never been a kosher one. Thirty years ago his own father, Katniss' grandfather, decided it was better business to avoid that label, as it would enable them to appeal to the widest possible customer base. And for years, their shop had thrived – but only because it had a large non-Jewish clientele.

That was all over now, of course. And going through the complicated steps necessary to become a Kosher shop now, so that Katniss and Gale might sell to more observant Jews, is prohibited by the government.

Peeta stands there looking at her for a long moment, compassion and concern etched plainly on his face. "Well," Peeta finally tells her, clearing his throat. "I'll be back for dinner regardless, Katniss. Chicken in hand."

He bends down to kiss her then, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her waist. The gentle touch of his hands on her back, and the way his mouth is slanting over hers, suddenly fills Katniss' stomach with butterflies. She rests her hands on his broad chest as she opens her mouth to him. She wants him to deepen the kiss, and she sighs into his mouth when he does.

But Peeta breaks away from her after only a few moments. He is flushed and breathing a little heavily.

"I do need to go now, Katniss," he tells her. His voice is hoarse. "I wish I didn't."

She wishes he didn't, too.

"I'll see you tonight, though." He kisses the top of her head. "Goodbye for now," he says wistfully, and then walks out the door.

* * *

Prim comes home an hour later, and her eyes nearly fall out of her head when she sees Peeta's bread.

"Where did you get that, Katniss?" she asks, incredulous. Because she knows as well as anyone that Katniss cannot bake well enough to make something like this.

"It's from Peeta," Katniss explains. "His family had some leftover bread they weren't able to sell yesterday, and he thought we might like to have it." Might as well tell Prim the basics. No need to tell her that they slept together in her bed last night as well.

"Oh," is all Prim says in response. But her eyes are as wide as if she'd heard something truly scandalous.

Katniss' blushes at Prim's reaction, in spite of herself, and reaches for her hand. "Why don't you go wake Mama, Prim. I'll make you both some toast for breakfast." Katniss finds that she cannot stop smiling.

Prim grins back at her older sister as if Katniss' smile tells her everything she needs to know, and then rushes off down the hall as she is bid.

* * *

Their mama has good days and bad days.

On a good day, she might speak a few sentences to her daughters. On the very best days she may even listen to what they have to say in response.

But those sorts of good days are rare. Her bad days – the days where she responds to nothing and no one, days in which she does nothing but sit in her chair, or lie in her bed, completely unresponsive – enormously outnumber her good ones. Even now, more than five months since Papa left them.

Mama's episodes have long been a fixture in Katniss' life, of course. But there has never before been an episode that lasted for so long, or that caused such detriment to the family. This one has gone on for so long that Herr Doktor, on his last visit, opined that she will likely never recover in any meaningful way.

Prim's compassion towards their mother seems, to Katniss, to be boundless. She dotes on Mama and cares for her in a way that Katniss cannot. _Will_ not.

Katniss decides it's a good thing that at least one of Mama's children is capable of feeling compassion towards her. Because when the end of the month inevitably comes and Uncle Haymitch's money is gone, no matter how many times Prim reminds Katniss that Mama is sick and that none of this is her fault, all Katniss can feel towards her mama is bitter resentment.

Katniss hates herself for feeling this way, but the truth of the matter is she no longer sees her mother as anything but a thankless burden.

While Katniss makes two identical slices of toast, Prim brings Mama out of her bedroom, still in her nightclothes and wearing her usual vacant expression. Prim sits her down at the kitchen table and tenderly brushes her tangled hair away from her face.

Ilse Everdeen looks at the loaf of bread on the table. She then sniffs the air and appears to recognize the unmistakable smell of toasting bread that hangs in the air.

And for the first time in recent memory, Ilse Everdeen smiles.

* * *

Even if he isn't exactly surprised, Peeta is still dismayed to discover that the things he'd stowed under the neighbors' front porch are soaked from last night's downpour.

But it isn't enough to wipe the smile off his face.

His clothes and other possessions will eventually dry. And even if some of them are destroyed, it doesn't matter.

What matters is that Katniss will let him take care of her. She accepted his bread, and he is going to make her dinner this evening. He vows to himself that he will do this for her, again and again and again, until the terrifying hollows under her eyes are gone and the beautiful round softness of her curves returns.

It just doesn't seem possible that after all this time, he can finally be with his Katniss again. That she _wants_ to be with him again. But Peeta knows this is no dream; those kisses she gave him this morning, her promise to him that she would never again leave his side, were all real.

His heart races just thinking about how she had felt in his arms this morning. How her lips had felt pressed against his when he kissed her goodbye. It makes everything he did yesterday, and everything he has yet to do now, seem like an insignificant nothing.

Peeta's grin is so broad by the time he reaches Streusel's flat that it threatens to split his face in two.

He raps twice on his brother's front door. There is no answer. Peeta supposes his brother and Finnick have already left for work. He tries the doorknob and, to his relief, the door opens easily.

Peeta carries the three large satchels that now contain all of his worldly possessions into the front room…

… and drops them immediately when he sees Johanna making breakfast in the kitchen, stark naked and smoking a cigarette.

"OH!" he exclaims in shock, covering his eyes reflexively.

"Hiya, Peeta," she says cheerfully, making no move to either leave the room or cover up. "What are you doing here?"

"What am _I_ doing here?" he yells at her, incredulous, hands still covering his eyes. "My brother lives here, Jo. What are _you_ doing here? At this hour, and…and…"

A sudden burst of realization hits Peeta before he finishes his sentence and renders him speechless.

"Well, why do you think I'm here, Peeta?" she asks him, completely unnecessarily at this point. "You're a smart kid."

Not being privy to a mirror Peeta cannot be certain, but he would still bet money on his face being an absolutely vivid shade of scarlet right now.

"So, look. I'll just go put something on, all right? Streu's at work, but there's no reason you can't stick around."

Peeta hears Johanna walk out of the room, but he doesn't uncover his eyes until he hears the click that confirms Streu's bedroom door has shut behind her.

Thoroughly flustered, Peeta takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out in an attempt to calm himself down. Eventually realizing that _that's_ a lost cause - at least for the time being – he decides he might as well just head for the kitchen and make himself something to eat.

* * *

Peeta doesn't intend to tell Johanna about what happened yesterday. But she reappears – fully clothed this time, Peeta is relieved to see – as he makes himself a fried egg sandwich. She sits at the kitchen table, lights a cigarette and looks at him expectantly.

And so he finds himself sharing the story all the same.

She gives a loud, rather shocking bark of laughter when he gets to the part about his fistfight with his mother.

"So…" he continues, trying not to react to her outburst. He's ecstatic, of course, that he finally hit his mother; but he thinks it would probably be uncouth to admit that. "I hope Streu and Finnick will let me stay here a while. Because I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Peeta," Johanna tells him, her demeanor suddenly serious. "Don't be ridiculous. You're his _brother_. And you need a place to stay because you punched your witch of a mother. Who just so happens to be a woman Streu has hated his entire life."

She takes a long drag of her cigarette before continuing.

"If anyone has ever deserved to be knocked out by someone, it would be her. Jesus, Peeta, not only will Streu and Finn let you stay here, they're also probably going to want to throw you a goddamn ticker tape parade." And she bursts into laughter once more.

Peeta still isn't _quite_ certain about the exact circumstances surrounding Johanna's presence at Streu's flat this morning. Aside from the… well, aside from the very obvious. He decides he'll need to get more information from Streu later about _that_.

But notwithstanding all of that, Peeta finds himself very glad for Johanna's presence here this morning after all.

And he tells her so.

"Not at all, Peeta," she tells him, saluting him and giving him a salacious wink. "I didn't have anything interesting to do this morning anyway."

* * *

Peeta leaves Streu's flat a few hours later, deciding that he doesn't have much choice but to postpone his talk with his brother until later this evening.

Fortunately, however, after a full day of searching Peeta manages to find a job all on his own, and without his brother's help.

To his delight, his new job will be at a bakery only a few miles from Katniss' home. Peeta thinks it will be a good job. The man who runs it – Herr Beetee – is far more interested in the business end of running a bakery and in tinkering with the ovens than he is in the actual act of baking itself. For twenty years, Herr Beetee had delegated all the baking duties to his daughter, Fraülein Wiress, while he did everything else.

Their system worked well for many years. But Herr Beetee lost his Wiress to scarlet fever during Frankfurt's harsh winter. "And I need a talented baker to take her place," he told Peeta, a little wistfully.

Peeta can already tell that Herr Beetee is a smart man, and a very kind one. Peeta feels badly for him, for he imagines that he must have loved his daughter very much.

But Peeta would also be lying if he said he wasn't excited for this opportunity. He had heard of Herr Beetee before today, of course. From his mother, of all people. Herr Beetee is located far enough away from his family's bakery that he is not exactly a competitor. But despite Frankfurt's size, there are only a small handful of bakeries that are known throughout the city. Mellark's Bakery is one of them, and Herr Beetee's is another.

Given Herr Beetee's prominence and his relative success, Peeta is confident that with this job, he will be able to earn enough money to both support himself _and_ help Katniss' family. What's more, because he will be Herr Beetee's head baker, Peeta thinks this job will likely give him far more creative license than he ever had working for his family.

He is to start tomorrow morning at sunrise.

As Peeta walks to the market adjacent Herr Beetee's bakery to purchase the things he will need for tonight's dinner, he jingles the coins in his pocket that Herr Beetee gave him at the end of their meeting today. "A signing bonus," he told Peeta with a wink.

For what might be the fifth time today, Peeta finds himself unable to stop smiling.

* * *

Katniss has just sent Prim off to the market with their last bit of money (Katniss is determined to contribute at least _something_ to this meal; her pride will not allow her to do otherwise) when Peeta arrives at the front door, breathless and bearing a sack full of what presumably will become their dinner.

"Hi," he tells her, flushed and grinning from ear to ear.

His smile is infectious, and Katniss smiles back at him.

"Hello, Peeta," she says.

He makes his way into the kitchen without waiting for an invitation and immediately begins unloading his sack. Katniss watches in amazement as he pulls out a large, plucked chicken, a bottle of olive oil, a half-dozen carrots, a large sack of potatoes, five apples, some baking chocolate, and a bottle of wine.

"Peeta," she tells him, a little breathlessly, and more than a little shocked at the quantity of food he brought. "How… how did you _pay_ for all of this?"

"I got a job today," he tells her. He hasn't stopped smiling since he walked through her front door; he's still smiling as he finds her roasting pan and arranges the chicken inside it. "I start tomorrow, and my new boss gave me a small advance today."

"But… but it's your money, Peeta," she stammers. She had not expected him to bring _all this_.

"It is my money," he agreed. "And that means I get to do whatever I want with it, doesn't it." He kisses the tip of her nose and starts slicing onions.

It goes against everything in Katniss' nature to accept this level of help from anyone who isn't her father. She has an almost overpowering urge to fight Peeta on this, to insist he keep his money and his food for himself. It was one thing for Peeta to give her some day-old bread that his family had been unable to sell; but this is another thing altogether.

But she bites her tongue. Because she knows that she no longer has any choice but to accept more help – from Peeta; from Uncle Haymitch; even from Gale – if she wants to survive. And because she knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Peeta will not take no for an answer.

Because of that last point, instead of telling Peeta how difficult all of this is for her, she changes the subject.

"What can I do to help?" she asks him. It also goes against her instinct to have a man prepare food for her like this. She can tell he really wants to do this, though. So she steps aside and lets him take control of the meal.

"Why don't you slice these?" he asks her, pointing to the onions.

She gets out a cutting board and her sharpest knife and gets to work. But it isn't really very much to do, and her assignment is over in a matter of minutes.

She asks Peeta if she can do something else to help, but he politely declines her offer.

"There really isn't anything left _to_ do, Katniss. Roasting a chicken is very easy," he points out. In fact, she knows this to be true. "I'm almost finished with everything already."

So she sits at the little kitchen table and watches as he works, mesmerized as he expertly seasons the chicken and rotates it in the pan every few minutes.

Soon, the smell of roasting chicken, potatoes, and carrots fills the whole house. Her mouth begins to water in anticipation.

"Oh, Peeta," she exclaims. "Everything smells absolutely wonderful."

He turns to look at her, and his smile lights up the room.

She goes to him, then, and puts her arms around his neck. She can't help herself. She kisses him, just once. She doesn't feel she should do much more than that with Prim liable to walk in at any moment.

But the look Peeta gives her when she pulls away from him makes her forget all about Prim.

* * *

To Katniss' great relief, when dinner is finally served she is able to sample a little of everything Peeta made for them. Maybe it's because she ate a small meal last night as well as this morning and her stomach was, therefore, better prepared. Or perhaps it's simply because she knows how upset and worried Peeta would have been if she'd been unable to eat tonight.

Regardless of the reasons why, she is able to eat, and every bite is more delicious than the one that came before it.

Katniss even has a small glass of wine with her meal. It's the first wine she's had since her papa died, and she isn't sure she's ever tasted anything better.

Prim and Peeta chat animatedly throughout dinner. Like it hasn't been over a year since the last time Peeta was in their home, and like it hasn't been more than six months since they had a meal on their table that was this fine.

Although Prim does seem genuinely pleased to see Peeta again, she hasn't asked Katniss a single question all day about why Peeta has suddenly reappeared in their lives. But Prim has always been an intuitive girl, as well as a bold one. If there is something Prim wants to know, Katniss has no doubt that she will find a way to ask.

Maybe she's already guessed everything there is to know all on her own.

Halfway through the meal, as Prim tells them about the friend whose house she visited last night, Katniss reaches down and takes Peeta's hand in hers. She brings their joined hands over to her lap and rests them on her knee. Prim's eyes dart once, briefly, down to where their joined hands disappear under the table, but then continues speaking as if nothing had happened.

After a few minutes Peeta takes his thumb and begins to slowly, gently caress Katniss' hand with it. The skin of her arm erupts immediately into gooseflesh, and it is all Katniss can do not to turn her head, right here, right now, and kiss this wonderful boy who cares for her so well.

But she doesn't do that, of course. She continues to participate in the conversation – or tries to, anyway – and she squeezes Peeta's hand a little tighter. Promising him, wordlessly, that she will never let him go.

* * *

After dinner is finished and the dishes are washed and put away, Prim yawns and stretches theatrically.

"Well," Prim says, clearing her throat. "I think I'll sleep in Mama's room tonight." Prim does this occasionally, as it makes it easier for her to cater to Mama's needs if she needs something in the night. She takes the plate of food they set aside for Mama earlier in the evening and walks towards her room.

"Goodnight, Katniss," she says. "And Peeta – thank you for dinner. It was amazing."

The wink Prim gives her older sister before leaving the room is unmistakable.

Katniss feels herself flush as she turns back to face Peeta.

As Prim has obviously already guessed, Katniss wants him to stay with her tonight. But Katniss hasn't the faintest idea how to make that happen without some sort of pretext.

Last night, of course, it had been easy. It was raining. He was injured from his fight with his mother and needed looking after. All of which served as convenient excuses to keep him here with her.

It isn't raining tonight, though. And Peeta seems to be healing remarkably well.

Peeta clears his throat awkwardly but makes no move to leave. He begins to fidget with the collar of his shirt. Katniss wonders if he wants the same thing she does but, like her, doesn't know how to ask.

Suddenly, an idea comes to her. If nothing else, it might prolong the evening.

"I want to show you something, Peeta," she says abruptly.

Without waiting for a response, Katniss takes him by the hand and brings him to her bedroom. She crosses over and flicks on the small bedside lamp.

She points above her bed to the painting that hangs there that depicts a very young Katniss, smiling with her adoring Papa.

Peeta stares at it, mesmerized, his jaw hanging slightly open.

"I didn't think you got to see it last night," Katniss explains. "It was dark. And this morning, when we woke up, it was dark too."

"You hung it over your bed?" he asks her, incredulous, still staring at it.

She nods. "I did." She smiles at him. "I love it, Peeta. It reminds me of Papa… and of the happy times I spent with him as a little girl." She turns Peeta's chin with her finger so that he's facing her. "I never got a chance to properly thank you for it."

She leans in and kisses him, once, briefly, on the lips.

"Thank you, Peeta," she tells him quietly. He just looks at her, saying nothing, his eyes trained on hers.

Katniss swallows and braces herself for what comes next. "But that isn't the only reason I hung it here." She takes his hands in hers. "Or maybe even the most important reason. When I look at this painting, it doesn't just remind me of Papa. It reminds me of you, too."

She pauses briefly. Tries to steady her nerves.

"And while we were apart," she continues, "I wanted _you_ to be the first thing I thought about when I woke up in the morning, and the last thing I thought about when—"

Her words are abruptly cut off as Peeta crushes his lips against hers.

This kiss is not tentative like the kisses they shared earlier today and in the classroom last fall. This is urgent and needy, fueled both by the anguish they suffered during their year apart and their joy in finally being reunited.

Katniss winds her arms around him instinctively, drawing him as close to her as she can. He places shaking hands on either side of her waist; his palms are very warm, and Katniss can feel them burn through the fabric of her dress.

And then Peeta's tongue parts her lips roughly, and she whimpers into his mouth, tightening her hold on him even more. The stubble on his chin is a new sensation, and it rasps deliciously against her own chin as his lips move against hers, making her shiver.

Katniss cannot believe she lived without this – without Peeta – for so long. He is like water. Like air. As he deepens the kiss she vows to herself, once more, to never again go without him. She knows she would not survive a second attempt.

Peeta eventually starts to back her slowly towards her bed. She moves her hands to his curls as they walk backwards together, still kissing, running her fingers through his hair as he squeezes her waist. When the backs of her knees hit the edge of her mattress she stumbles a little before lying down across her bed.

Peeta remains standing as he gazes down on her. He has an intense look in his eyes she has never seen before. It makes her heart race. A very small voice in Katniss' head tells her that this is all too much, that she should stop him now before anything else happens.

But she doesn't _want_ to stop him.

"Peeta…" she says instead, reaching up to him, imploring him wordlessly to join her on the bed.

She doesn't have to ask him twice.

Peeta positions himself so that his torso rests lightly on top of hers. He places rapid and desperate open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, her neck, mumbling her name against her skin. It feels like he is everywhere all at once. She feels like she is on fire.

He kisses his way back up her neck to nibble gently on her earlobe. She shudders a little. "Is this ok?" he breathes into her ear, a little unsteadily.

"Yes…" she whispers.

"Good…" he murmurs. She sighs as he traces the outline of her ear with his tongue. "Because I've been thinking about being with you like this ever since the last time."

He presses little kisses along her collarbone. "I tried not to," he continues, between kisses. "I was so certain it would never happen again, and thinking about it hurt unbearably sometimes. But… but I just couldn't help myself."

She puts her hands on his chest to still his movements, and he looks up at her.

"I thought about it too, Peeta," she assures him. "So many times."

He swallows audibly before he bends to kiss her again.

"I want you to touch me," she blurts out as he kisses her, her heart nearly beating out of her chest. The words are out of her mouth before she can even think about what she's saying. But she realizes, suddenly, that it's the absolute truth. "The way… the way you did that night."

He pauses and looks at her. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice catching on the last word.

Feeling braver than she ever has before, Katniss sits up, reaches around to the back of her dress and, by way of answer to his question, tugs the zipper down until the bodice pools around her waist.

Peeta sits up immediately, and his breath catches. His eyes dart down to her breasts, but they don't stay there. They linger instead on her protruding ribcage that stretches her skin so significantly in places that she has started to bruise.

He reaches out and lightly runs his fingers over her ribs, frowning slightly.

This is not the reaction Katniss had hoped for. Suddenly self-conscious, she crosses her arms over herself and reaches for her dress.

Peeta pulls her arms away from her body and kisses her.

"Katniss," he says, quietly. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." He kisses first the top of one breast, and then the other. "And nothing will ever change that. But… please. Please promise you'll let me help you." His gaze is fierce, determined. "You don't need to go hungry anymore."

She takes his face in her hands and kisses him with all the love she feels in her heart. "I promise," she says. She cannot do anything else.

And then she reaches behind her back once more, unhooking her brassiere and letting it slide off her shoulders.

"Katniss," Peeta whispers reverently, gazing at her exposed body, the earlier subject of conversation apparently forgotten for the moment. "You are so, so lovely."

He reaches out, then, and covers her small breasts with his warm hands. Katniss can feel the slight tremor that runs through him as her nipples start to pebble up against his palms.

Wordlessly, she pulls him back down onto the bed with her, his hands still cupping her breasts, and she leans forward to kiss him again.

They lie together for what feels like hours. Time no longer has meaning. Peeta gently caresses and strokes and kneads her breasts with his strong hands as she ravishes his mouth with her tongue. Their breathing grows ragged, and he begins to pay specific attention to her sensitive, erect nipples. She cries out as he experiments with rolling one, then the other, between his fingers.

Katniss shifts her leg slightly and Peeta presses back against her, moaning softly as he bends to take one of her breasts into his mouth. She is drowning in sensation, and she can feel all of him now, fully erect against her thigh.

It fills her with a thrilling desire to touch him there_._

He begins to thrust himself against her a little and it gives her the extra bravery she needs to ask.

"Peeta…" she begins.

"Hmm?" he murmurs, just before he bites down experimentally on her nipple, causing her to cry out once more.

When she regains her ability to speak, she tells him. "I want… I want to touch _you_."

Peeta pulls away from her at her words and looks in her eyes. To her immense relief, he doesn't ask her if she's sure. Maybe he wants this badly enough to take what she's offering without question.

Katniss pushes lightly on his chest and, following her lead, he rolls onto his back. Without breaking eye contact with her, Peeta unfastens the front of his pants and lowers them just enough for his erection to spring free.

Katniss' eyes grow wide as saucers when she sees him.

She isn't certain what she'd been expecting. In truth, she had never before given much thought to what men looked like _down there_. But whatever she had expected, she certainly didn't expect it to look so… strange.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks, his voice a little panicked. She looks up at his face, and his brow is furrowed in concern.

Without another word, she reaches out and wraps her hand around him. Instantly, the worried look vanishes as he closes his eyes and lets out a quiet moan.

She really doesn't know what she's doing. It doesn't seem to matter, though. She experimentally runs her hand up and down his length, and that is enough for him to lose complete control of himself. Peeta whimpers and moans her name and bits of nonsense as she strokes him. He reaches out to cup her breast again, but his movements are uncoordinated and distracted. He squeezes her at erratic intervals until his hand eventually drops away.

Within minutes, Peeta starts to grow thicker in her hand. Instinctively she grips him a little harder, making him groan deeply, and she moves her hand more rapidly. Suddenly, he squeezes his eyes tightly shut and his body goes completely rigid. She stares at his face, fascinated.

A low gurgling noise emanates from deep in his throat, and then a jet of milky white fluid shoots out of him and lands on his stomach.

After lying in a daze for a long moment, Peeta sits up and takes off his shirt, which he uses to clean himself. He tosses it to the floor and leans over to kiss her again.

"That was amazing, Katniss," he murmurs to her, still a little breathless. "Thank you."

She kisses him back. "I liked doing it, Peeta."

"Can... can I do that for you?" The pleading tone in his voice surprises her a little. "I… I _really_ want to make you feel like that, too."

There is only one answer she can give him.

Before she can even register it happening, the rest of Katniss' clothes are pulled off and tossed onto the floor, and Peeta is sitting between her legs, looking down at her nude body as though he has never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He doesn't know what to do, and he is suddenly very nervous about doing this wrong. But Katniss guides his hand as they explore her body together, and she tries to reassure him by telling him, over and over again, how much she loves him.

Together they discover that touching the small bundle of nerves right at the junction of her thighs gives her the most pleasure, and after a period of experimentation Peeta eventually finds a rhythm that has her bucking up against his hand and whimpering his name. Katniss can see him, out of half-lidded eyes, watching her, mesmerized, his jaw slightly open, as her pleasure begins to crest and she starts to writhe helplessly beneath him.

Just when she feels like cannot take any more, like she is about to break apart into a million pieces, Peeta leans forward to take her breast into his mouth. And she cries out and clings to his wrist for dear life, her whole body suddenly suffused in a pleasure that overtakes all of her senses.

After, Peeta pulls his hand away and lies down beside her on the bed. He gathers her up into his arms as she falls back down to earth and tries to catch her breath.

"I love you so much, Katniss," he murmurs into her ear.

Katniss knows there is more they have yet left to try – she can feel him pressing against her again, as hard and full as he was before, maybe even more so. But in spite of that, he doesn't seem to be in a rush to do any of those other things right now.

And neither is she.

After all, they have all the time in the world.


	11. Chapter 11

_a/n_: _It goes without saying that I am so, so sorry for the delay in this update. I was derailed by life events and some serious writer's block, unfortunately._

_But - the next update will happen very soon. As in, later today or tomorrow. This relatively short chapter was initially supposed to be the first part of a much larger chapter. But after rereading, I thought this stood better on its own. The rest of the initial chapter is about 75% written (and is much larger than this one). _

_Thank you again for all of your reviews, follows, and favorites. And for your patience! And a special thanks again to everyone on tumblr for your endless wit and encouragement._

* * *

_August 1938, New York, New York_

_By the time Haymitch finally arrives at the café in Greenwich Village, Mrs. Doellefeld is already waiting for him at a table near the back._

_When she notices him enter she stands up awkwardly and motions for him to join her._

"_Hello, Mr. Abernathy," she greets him with a smile as he approaches. Haymitch notes, and not for the first time, how nearly undetectable her German accent is. _

_It must be due to how young she was when she emigrated here, he muses._

_Haymitch is completely unused to interacting with married, pregnant women. Especially when they are not in the company of their husbands. But he puts his present discomfiture aside and simply says, "Hello, Mrs. Doellefeld," as pleasantly as he can manage, in response._

_He sits down in the chair across from her and fiddles with the menu in the center of the table. Not that he actually thinks he'll be able to eat anything right now. His stomach is a mess of knots, and he knows it's a minor miracle that he was able to keep Effie's coffee down earlier this morning._

_Mrs. Doellefeld – Delly, he remembers her first name is – pulls out a sheaf of papers from her large boxy handbag and places it between them._

"_They arrive at approximately 4:15 this afternoon," she tells Haymitch without further preamble, gesturing to the documents. He knows this already of course. "It will take some time for them to be processed. I'm not certain how much time." She begins rifling through the papers as though looking for the answer to that question._

_Haymitch nods. "My colleagues said we can expect it to take hours." Haymitch is not the only NYU history professor to be welcoming relatives from Europe at present and has been the grateful beneficiary of their useful advice. He's not certain how he would have managed the past few months – years, really – without their guidance._

_A sudden thought occurs to him. "Will you be all right, Mrs. Doellefeld? Waiting at Ellis Island for so many hours until they are processed and ready to come home with us, I mean?" He doesn't add, "because you are pregnant." He feels doing so would be uncouth. He hopes, however, that she will understand what he means well enough. _

_She seems to. She looks up at him at his words and gives a small, mirthless laugh. "I've been waiting for this day for more than two years, Haymitch. I will be fine."_

_Mrs. Doellefeld looks down at her hands, then, and pauses before continuing. _

"_Mr. Abernathy," she eventually says, hesitating. "About my cousin, Peeta…" She trails off. But Haymitch is fairly certain he knows what she is about to say next._

"_Yes, Mrs. Doellefeld? What about him?" he prompts._

"_I was hoping – just for a little while, just until after the baby is born," she gestures briefly to her burgeoning stomach, "that you might be able to house him."_

_Haymitch had expected this and so readily says, "Of course. Until after the baby is born." But he adds something that he worries might be an impediment to this plan. "But I could see this being a problem with the American immigration officials, Mrs. Doellefeld. Given that we've already given them your address as his new home."_

_Mrs. Doellefeld nods. "That may be a problem, yes. But you and I will be there to explain the situation. And, well…" she trails off and laughs a little, gesturing to herself. "Look at me. They should believe our story well enough."_

_Instead of doing as instructed Haymitch averts his eyes. He cannot help the blush that rises on his cheeks._

"_Besides," Mrs. Doellefeld continues. "Your niece will be living with you already. And she shares Peeta's surname, after all. Hopefully that will make everything easier."_

_Haymitch's eyes snap to hers immediately. "Mrs. Doellefeld. If you think for one second I am going to let my niece remain 'Mellark' after she gets here…"_

_But Mrs. Doellefeld cuts him off. "Becoming a 'Mellark' is the main reason she was allowed to emigrate, Mr. Abernathy," she says forcefully, but not unkindly. "You know that as well as I do." She pauses and takes a sip of her tea. "If it weren't for this particular… subterfuge, she would almost certainly still be in Germany with her sister and their mother. Not coming home to you today."_

_Haymitch says nothing. What is there to say? He knows Mrs. Doellefeld is right. But that doesn't mean he has to like it. And he most certainly does not like it._

_Mrs. Doellefeld continues in a calmer tone. "My understanding is that if she wishes to be an Everdeen again, that can be accomplished easily enough once she arrives." _

_Her words and voice are meant to pacify him, Haymitch knows. _

_It doesn't work._

* * *

_September 1935, Frankfurt am Main_

Peeta wakes to the feel of her fingertips gently running up and down his arm.

"Peeta," Katniss murmurs in his ear. "It's time for you to wake up."

"Mmmm…" Peeta mumbles into the pillow.

He's dimly aware that Katniss is right. But he's so comfortable, and it's been weeks since they've been together like this. All he wants to do right now is burrow under the covers with her and sleep for another hour…

"Peeeeeetaaaaa…" she says again, more playfully. She's not going to let him go back to sleep; that much is clear. She climbs on top of him and begins unbuttoning his nightshirt. When she's gotten it open she places little kisses in a line down his chest.

"Mmmm…" Peeta murmurs again, sleepily. He buries his hands in her hair as she kisses down his torso. "I like that…"

She swirls her tongue in his navel and he gasps, suddenly wide awake.

"Time to wake up," she says mischievously, climbing off of him. He reaches for her with a groan but she moves away quickly, laughing a little as she turns on her small bedside lamp.

"You need to go to work, Peeta," she tells him, more sternly this time. "Herr Beetee needs his baker."

Peeta sits up on Katniss' narrow bed, rubbing his eyes. "All right, all right," he says, resigned.

She sits next down next to him and threads the fingers of her right hand through his. She lifts his hand to her mouth and tenderly kisses it. "I'll see you tonight for _Shabbat_, Peeta."

He turns to her and wraps her up in his arms before kissing her on the mouth. After many months her body's natural curves have finally returned, and the feel of her supple body against his is intoxicating.

"Of course," he murmurs to her, pulling away for just a moment. Despite his demanding work schedule Peeta never misses _Shabbat_ with Katniss' family. Not even on the weeks when Gale, who clearly hates him for some reason, is present.

After giving this assurance, Peeta leans forward to kiss Katniss again. He wants desperately to deepen the kiss, to entwine their tongues the way their fingers were entwined just a moment ago. But she's right; he _does_ have to go to work.

And today is also the day he needs to make Finnick's and Annie's wedding cake. He knows that he simply doesn't have time for any more than these quick kisses from Katniss right now.

Peeta stands up reluctantly and dresses quickly from the small collection of clothes he keeps in Katniss' bottom dresser drawer. He doesn't spend the night in her bed frequently; but when he does, it's convenient to have some of his things waiting here for him the next morning.

He walks over to her before leaving and kisses her forehead.

"I love you, Katniss. I'll see you tonight."

* * *

Even though the past six months have been the happiest of Peeta's life, he doesn't see Katniss anywhere close to as frequently as he would like.

After all, Katniss still lives with her mother and Prim. And until this past weekend, when Finnick finally moved out of his bedroom and into the home he will share with Annie once they are wed, Peeta technically lived in Streu's sitting room.

And so even though his mother is no longer an issue, the only times Peeta can truly be alone with Katniss are on the increasingly rare evenings when her mother has a setback and needs Prim's overnight assistance. (Peeta feels like a despicable person for viewing Ilse Everdeen's lingering illness somewhat opportunistically; but when he is in Katniss' bed, in her arms, as she lies atop him kissing his throat, he cannot help himself.)

The demands of his job are, of course, another impediment. As Herr Beetee's head baker Peeta is in charge of the bakery's entire daily output and must also supervise several young apprentices. This work keeps him busy from five-thirty in the morning until four in the afternoon, six days a week. And even with his long hours Peeta still often feels there is much left undone at the end of every day.

But Peeta knows his job is a very good one. It isn't just that he recognizes he is fortunate to have it, although that is certainly part of it. He enjoys the work and gets satisfaction out of it in a way he never did when working for his father. Peeta loved working for his father, of course; but given that he was his father's son – and his father's _youngest_ son, at that – Peeta's opinion was never sought on much of anything at all.

In contrast, Herr Beetee, recognizing Peeta's talent immediately, did as he promised when he hired Peeta and has turned over the bakery's creative direction entirely over to him.

In short, Herr Beeta respects Peeta and his opinions and treats him like a man – like an equal, really – not like a boy. Over the course of the past five months Peeta knows he has become indispensable to his employer in a way he never was to his family. He often felt that they never really needed him at all.

It's something he has come to cherish. Even if it means that he is usually only able to see Katniss on Friday evenings and on his one day off from work per week.

It is still dark outside as Peeta makes the short bicycle trip from Katniss' home to the bakery. Peeta glances at his wristwatch when he arrives, and he realizes he's nearly thirty minutes late. He can't help but grimace a little as he pushes open the front door.

The bakery is already unlocked, which means Alfred, the young Jewish apprentice in charge of pastry decoration, must have gotten here before he did.

"Good morning, Herr Mellark," Al says, confirming Peeta's suspicions as he enters the kitchen.

"Good morning, Al," Peeta tells him, reaching for an apron and tying it around his waist. Peeta knows Herr Beetee will be displeased to learn he arrived after one of the apprentices this morning.

Peeta watches as Al begins to frost a tray of cookies.

"Those look good," Peeta tells him, nodding. Al is definitely one of the more skilled apprentices. "But after you finish those, why don't you spend the rest of the morning on baguettes."

Al smiles at him, knowing full well that today, Peeta will need the entire cake decorating station all to himself.

* * *

This wedding cake proves to be one of the most challenging things Peeta has ever made.

Annie is from a small town near the Swiss border, and when she told Peeta she wanted her wedding cake to remind her of home, Peeta knew right away that he wanted her cake to somehow capture the majestic feel of a walk through the mountains.

It took him considerably longer to decide what that might look like, however. It took even longer to determine how to turn his vision into a reality.

All good-natured ribbing aside, over the years Peeta has come to view Finnick as another older brother, and he has never, in his life, met another girl as sweet and guileless as Annie. It's very important to Peeta to get this cake exactly right, and he wants it to be something the two of them will remember all their lives.

Peeta has just begun icing the second layer when Beetee enters the kitchen.

"This looks fantastic, Peeta," Beetee tells him, smiling.

Peeta knows Beetee is a businessman and lacks any real aesthetic sense. But Beetee does recognize quality when he sees it, most of the time, and Peeta appreciates the compliment all the same.

He returns Beetee's smile and says, "Thank you. I've been working very hard."

Beetee nods. "Now that you've finally shown up to work, that is," he says, pointedly but not unkindly.

Peeta cannot help but flush at Beetee's words. "Yes. Well… I can explain…"

Beetee laughs and waves his hand dismissively. "No need. You are seldom late, and on the rare occasions you are, you always manage to catch up by the end of the day regardless."

Peeta nods. "Well, I'm sorry all the same. It won't happen again."

Beetee's eyebrows shoot up. "No? So you won't be spending another night with your Katniss, then?" His eyes are mischievous.

Once, when Peeta was late for work, he made the tactical error of admitting to Beetee that he'd been late because he had been with Katniss the night previously. In truth, the only times Peeta is _ever_ late for work are the mornings when he has to tear himself away from her bed.

Although he has never mentioned Katniss as the reason for his tardiness again, Herr Beetee always assumes she's the reason whenever Peeta is late.

Which, Peeta figures, is fair enough. Given that it's always true. But Peeta feels that it's one thing for a thing to be true, and quite another for one's boss to _know_ it's true.

Beetee looks pointedly at the cake again, and then back at Peeta. Back to the cake; and then back to Peeta.

"You know, Peeta" Beetee says, a little conspiratorially. "I may have a solution to your… problem."

Peeta doesn't understand. "You know how to make these mountain peaks look rockier?" he asks skeptically, gesturing to the cake. Peeta can't imagine Beetee would have the faintest idea how to rectify this particular icing issue. But it's true – his mountain peaks don't look especially craggy, and it's been bothering him all morning.

Beetee just laughs. "No, Peeta," he tells him. "I mean a solution for how you don't seem to have enough time to spend with your girl."

Peeta blanches. "And… and what's your solution to that, Beetee?"

Beetee is quiet for a long moment. He just smiles and shakes his head. Instead of replying he simply says, "Well, Peeta. Why don't you see if you can't come up with a solution on your own. Perhaps you should ponder it while you're making this cake to commemorate the… the _marriage…_ of your friends." He winks at Peeta, slaps him on the back, and gives him a broad grin.

Shocked into speechlessness, Peeta merely nods.

* * *

Peeta does ponder it. Over and over and over again, from every angle he can think of.

He thinks about how much money he has saved. Herr Beetee pays him well, and Peeta quickly decides that it's enough.

He finds it very difficult to focus on Finnick's and Annie's wedding cake – or, really, on much of anything at all aside from Beetee's not-so-thinly veiled suggestion – for the rest of the day.

By the time Peeta locks up the bakery at the end of the day and begins his bicycle ride to Katniss' home for _Shabbat_, his mind is made up.

And he wonders if he might just be the biggest idiot in the world for not having come up with this solution on his own months ago.


	12. Chapter 12

_a/n: Special thanks to __**the-magnificently-angry-beaver**__ for giving me the idea for one of the details in this chapter. She'll know it when she sees it. :)_

* * *

_September 1935, Frankfurt am Main_

After putting on Peeta's favorite dress – the "sunset-colored" one, as Prim calls it; the one that finally hugs her body in all the right places again - and arranging her hair in two fancy braids, Katniss walks into the kitchen. She stands on her tiptoes and pulls down the money jar her family stores on top of the cupboards.

She carefully counts out the coins she'll need to take the bus to Finnick's wedding.

Feeling the weight of the coins in her hand, for the hundredth time Katniss silently thanks the family who purchased their butcher shop three months ago for saving them from the brink of starvation.

She tries to put out of mind the constant, nagging worry of what on earth her family will do when that money inevitably runs out.

It continues to shame her how completely dependent her family was on Peeta during those first few months. He would hate to hear this, of course. He made it abundantly clear that he was glad to help. That he _needed_ to help. But all the same, Katniss hopes to never have to depend on him like that again.

As Katniss pockets the money her Mama walks into the kitchen. She smiles at her daughter, a warm smile, and it breaks Katniss out of her train of thought.

Mama's eyes are bright. Lucid. _Today is going to be one of Mama's good days_, Katniss thinks.

"Have fun at Finnick's wedding, dear," Ilse Everdeen tells her.

"I will, Mama," she tells her, giving her a hug. "Remember, I'll be staying at Johanna's flat tonight, since she lives nearby. I won't be home until morning."

This, of course, is a lie. She plans to spend tonight with Peeta in his new bedroom. After going so long without any significant involvement from Mama in her life, Katniss refuses to feel any guilt over this deception.

"Of course," her Mama says in response. But the vague look on her face makes Katniss doubt Mama actually remembers having this conversation with her yesterday. Although Mama's health has, to Herr Doktor's great surprise, improved dramatically since Peeta re-entered their lives and made sure the Everdeens always had enough to eat, Mama still has periods, almost every week, where she retreats back into herself, alone and unreachable.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Katniss kisses her mother on the cheek. She tries, and fails, to summon enough warmth of feeling to smile at her before turning to leave.

* * *

The church where Finnick and Annie are to be married is located very near where Finn and Streu lived together for the better part of five years.

As such, it takes Katniss' nearly an hour to get there by bus.

When she finally arrives at the church she looks inside and immediately begins scanning the assembled guests for Peeta.

But he finds her before she finds him.

"Katniss," he tells her as he approaches her from behind. He is smiling – beaming at her, actually – and bends to kiss her cheek.

She leans up and kisses him chastely on the mouth. She is relieved to see that his inexplicable skittishness from Friday evening, when he ate at their table for _Shabbat_ but was completely incapable of looking her in the eye, appears to be behind him.

She takes his hand. He wraps his other arm around her as they walk inside. His fingers caress her waist in a way that she isn't entirely certain is appropriate given the setting. But she can't bring herself to stop him.

As they walk together, Katniss looks around them, taking in the room. In truth, this is the first time Katniss has been inside any kind of Christian church. She marvels at how different everything is – the room's design, the artistic symbols, _everything _– from the synagogue she knew in her youth.

"Are they all like this?" Katniss asks Peeta after they've taken their seats in a pew in the middle of the room.

He looks at her quizzically. "All like what?"

"Churches, I mean," she tells him. "The colors, and the art, and the…" She trails off and gestures to the front of the room towards a large stained glass window rendering of a crucifix.

He laughs. "I really wouldn't know, Katniss. I've been inside as many churches as you have, I think." He kisses her cheek once more and takes her hand. He's beaming at her again.

She can't help but smile back at him. It's so wonderful being with him like this outside the confines of home.

As wedding guests continue to file into the church and take their seats, Katniss takes the Bible out from under her seat with her free hand and begins idly leafing through it. Soon, she notices Peeta's grip on her hand tighten. Instinctively she looks up at him. His eyes are hard and he's clenching his jaw.

She follows the direction of his gaze and sees three young men, probably a few years older than she and Peeta are, clustered together towards the front of the church.

"What's wrong, Peeta?" she asks him. "Do you… do you know them?" She gestures in their direction.

Peeta nods. "I do," he tells her through clenched teeth. "Those men were the leaders of my _Hitler Jugend_ group, Katniss."

Katniss feels all the blood drain out of her face.

"Why… why are they here?" she asks him in a whisper.

Peeta shrugs. She thinks he intends it to be a reassuring gesture, but his body remains tense and his eyes stay locked on the men in the front of the church.

"Finnick probably felt he needed to have some of his work colleagues at the wedding," he tells her.

When the ceremony begins, Katniss dimly registers that Annie is a vision in tulle and lace. That Finnick is looking at his bride as though the sun rises and sets on her. But the three blonde young men in the third pew from the front keep diverting her attention and preventing her from truly being able to share in Annie's and Finnick's joy.

She wonders what those men will think when they see her dancing in Peeta's arms at the reception following this ceremony.

She tightens her grip on Peeta's hand.

* * *

Peeta accosts Streu shortly after the ceremony ends, as people mill about and greet the glowing newlyweds.

"He could have warned me," Peeta tells him, tersely.

Peeta doesn't provide further explanation, but the chagrined look on Streu's face tells Katniss that he doesn't need to.

"It couldn't be helped, Peeta," he tells his younger brother. "Finn thought it would have been uncouth not to invite any colleagues at all. And it was either them," he tilts his head slightly towards the three blonde gentlemen who are now taking turns slapping Finnick on the back, "or one of our superiors. That would have been much worse."

Streu runs his hand through his hair as he talks. He looks surreptitiously over his shoulder before continuing. "And, as it happens, all of our superiors are at an important week-long meeting right now in Nuremburg." He shakes his head. "So we're stuck with those three instead."

The fear on Katniss' face must show clearly, because Streu's next words are for her.

"It will be all right, Katniss," he reassures her. "We're in public and this is a wedding. Nothing will happen to you here."

This is not what Katniss is most afraid of. "But what might they do to Peeta, Streu? Here, or afterwards? If they see him dancing with a Jewish girl? He used to be part of their group... and…"

If being with Peeta here tonight endangers him in any way, she won't dance with him. Perhaps she should just go home.

"I think it will be all right," Streu tells her. "Membership in the _Hitler Jugend_ is voluntary, after all. And Peeta's almost too old for it now anyway." He chews on his lip, making Katniss think he has more to say.

"But…" he continues after another moment. "But perhaps you should give them a wide berth at the reception all the same."

Streu's eyes are kind, but sad.

Katniss glances at Peeta. He's looking at his brother with a determined gaze.

"Fine by me," Peeta spits out.

* * *

In the end, avoiding the three men who were once Peeta's _Hitler Jugend_ leaders is not difficult. Finnick's and Annie's families are well-connected and the reception is large. Once Peeta and Katniss are seated in the hall for dinner they do not see those three again.

But Katniss must endure disapproving glares and nasty overheard comments from many of the other wedding guests throughout the meal. She does not want to concern Peeta – she knows he's been looking forward to this celebration for months, and to the presentation of his cake. Her stomach, though, is in knots. She can barely even taste the food she forces herself to eat.

Of course, Peeta knows what's happening without her needing to say a word. He has eyes; he has ears. When an elegantly attired blonde woman seated across from them makes a particularly vile anti-Semitic comment to her table companion, halfway through the meal, Peeta's hand finds its way under the table and he gives Katniss' leg a reassuring squeeze.

When it's time for the dancing to begin, Peeta pulls Katniss to her feet and proposes they dance in the small parlor off the main hall.

"It will be more romantic, away from all these people," he tells her with a smile. But the smile does not reach his eyes and she knows the real reason behind his suggestion.

When they reach the parlor, Peeta pulls her into his arms and they begin to dance. It's a popular waltz, and one she knows well. But she can still feel the disapproving stares of many of their fellow-wedding guests boring into her back even though she is no longer in the same room with them. It unnerves her, despite Streu's earlier reassurances that nothing will happen to her here, and it causes her to stumble more than once.

Peeta either doesn't seem to notice her uncharacteristic clumsiness or just doesn't care. The second time she trips and falls ungracefully into him, he simply wraps his arms around her more tightly and smiles, humming a little.

"I know I've already told you this, Katniss but… you look so beautiful tonight," Peeta murmurs in her ear, a little huskily, after she's regained her footing. He leans forward to gently kiss the juncture of her neck and her shoulder where it peeks out from under her dress. The feel of his lips on her bare skin makes her shiver... and helps her to forget, at least for a moment, that there is anyone else with them this evening at all.

"Thank you, Peeta," she tells him. She leans forward and rests her head lightly against his chest. She reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck as they continue to sway back and forth to the music.

After another long moment, he leans down and tenderly kisses her forehead. "Katniss…?" he begins. But he trails off.

"Yes, Peeta?" She looks up at him and smiles.

When she meets Peeta's gaze his hands, resting at the small of her back, begin to tremble.

"Katniss, I…" Peeta tries again. His voice sounds strained now and he stops, closing his eyes and shaking his head a little. When he opens his eyes again they flit nervously between hers and the ground. She can feel the tremor going through him becoming more pronounced.

She does not understand what is wrong. "Peeta?" she asks again, starting to worry. Does he think they are unsafe here after all?

He snaps his blue eyes back to hers again and tries to smile. But it looks forced; he looks highly pained, which does nothing to assuage her fears.

Whatever he's about to tell her cannot be good.

"I love you, Katniss," he eventually manages. "I have for… for forever." He pauses, and swallows. He removes one of his hands from the small of her back and gently cups her cheek. They've stopped dancing by now, both of them standing still in each other's arms. Katniss can hear laughter from the main hall as the band tunes its instruments for its next set.

Peeta closes his eyes again. He appears to be summoning some inner strength for what he's about to tell her. On instinct, Katniss remains silent and waits.

"I have a good job now, Katniss," Peeta continues, slowly. "Herr Beetee gave me a raise in salary a month ago." He smiles again, more broadly this time. "I have enough, now, to move out of Streu's flat. And to support a wife. And… and a family."

_Oh._

It suddenly feels as if the world around them has ceased to exist.

"If your Papa were still here… well, I would want to talk to him before…." He trails off and chuckles a little, sheepishly. "And I wanted to speak to your mother first but, but Gale was at _Shabbat_ last Friday and… I lost my nerve. But I can't wait any longer, Katniss."

He stands a little taller, then, and fixes her with a steady gaze. All of the nervousness and uncertainty of the past few minutes seems to melt away from him as he runs the hand that's cupping her face through her long, dark hair. She shivers involuntarily.

"I want to be the one who takes care of you and your family," he murmurs into her ear. He gently kisses the shell of her ear before pulling away to look in her eyes again.

"I don't want to have to leave you at the end of the night anymore," he continues. "I want to go to bed with you every night and I want to wake up every morning with you in my arms." He moves his hand from her face and slides it down, slowly, until it rests gently on her stomach. "And someday – when we're older, when we're ready - I want you to be the mother of our children." He gives her a small, shy smile, and it feels like her heart might beat right out of her chest.

"So what I'm trying to say, Katniss, is… I want… I want to ask you to be my wife."

At his question, it feels as though her heart stops beating completely.

Katniss takes her hands from around his shoulders and moves them to cradle his face. His eyes look into hers imploringly.

Instead of giving voice to the hundreds of concerns that have suddenly come rushing to the front of her mind (_Can they really do this? Here, in Germany? Can they really marry if they cannot even dance together at a wedding? Will her mother and Prim ever really accept Peeta as part of the family?_), and instead of answering him with words, Katniss pulls him down into a long, languid kiss.

Eventually, she breaks away. His pupils are huge inside his beautiful blue irises, and his breath has increased a little in speed. He looks at her expectantly. He looks worried – perhaps because she hasn't answered his question yet.

She steadies her nerves and smiles as she gives him her truthful answer.

"I want to be your wife more than anything, Peeta," she tells him. He makes a strangled noise of joy, deep in his throat, but she silences him by pulling him down for another kiss.

* * *

Katniss leaves the wedding with Peeta about an hour later, after the toasts and the speeches have finished and the bride and groom are ushered out of the building amidst cheers and bawdy insults.

It starts to rain before Katniss and Peeta have even made it halfway to his flat. But they are past caring and somehow they manage to stumble, together, to his home, laughing as they splash through puddles with their arms wrapped tightly around each other.

By the time they arrive they are soaked to the skin.

Once inside, Katniss is about to ask Peeta for something she can use to dry herself but before she can manage the words, Peeta's arms are around her again and his mouth is crashing down on hers.

"My wife," he whimpers as he attacks her mouth. He hungrily kisses water droplets off her jaw, her neck. Everywhere not covered by her sodden dress. "You're going to be my wife."

"I've wanted to be your wife for so long, Peeta," she tells him honestly, her head thrown back as he kisses and sucks down her throat.

Her words seem to flip a switch in him, and he growls a little as he starts to slowly back her towards his bedroom. Peeta's tongue traces invisible patterns on the sensitive skin underneath her ear as they walk, making her gasp.

And then suddenly they're in his room, and his hands are scrabbling for the hem of her dress. "Let's get you dry," he murmurs in her ear. She helps him peel the drenched garment off her body, and then suddenly – just like that – she is standing before him in nothing but her undergarments.

It's been months since Peeta has seen her in such a state of undress. After all, they have only had the opportunity to be alone together like this on a few occasions. Katniss feels a nervous thrill go through her as she watches him take in her form through her wet underthings, made nearly transparent from the rain.

Emboldened by the hungry look she sees in his eyes, Katniss moves closer to him and begins tugging on the buttons of his shirt. "Now, you," she tells him.

Her words snap him out of the reverie the sight of her half-nude body seemed to put him in and he helps her take off his shirt. Once it's in a pile on the floor, Katniss makes to remove his trousers, and he her undergarments.

When those clothes too are gone, Peeta looks around the room quickly. He pulls a thick quilt from his bed and wraps it tightly around the both of them. "To… to dry us off…" he says huskily by way of explanation, his eyes hooded and dark. Their naked bodies are pressed together now inside the blanket and she can feel his erection pressing firmly, urgently, against her stomach.

In all the nights they've spent cuddling together in her narrow bed they have never once been completely unclothed. The feel of his bare skin on hers is ethereal. Better than anything she has ever imagined.

She doesn't think she could move away from him right now if she tried.

She leans up to kiss him, touching his face with shaking hands. Peeta grabs hold of her shoulders and kisses her back with a ferocity she has never known.

Together, they stumble towards his bed. When they get there she quickly climbs atop him, her knees on either side of his waist, and then leans forward to kiss him again. Her wet braided hair is plastered to her neck and shoulders. Little drops of water fall onto Peeta's chest as they kiss. He doesn't seem to care. He lies beneath her, kissing her back, tasting her mouth, tangling his tongue eagerly with hers.

He runs his fingertips gently over her thighs, causing her lower body to erupt into gooseflesh and making her suddenly desperate for the feel of his hands elsewhere on her body. She sits up a little and brings his hands up so they cover her bare breasts. He whines as her nipples pebble up against his palms. She mirrors the sound, suddenly awash in sensation, when he rolls first one, and then the other, between his thumb and forefinger.

Katniss doesn't think she will ever tire of the touch of his hands on her body. Or of watching his face as he touches her like this. His eyes are half-lidded with pleasure, and he is staring at her breasts as he touches her as though her body were as radiant as the sun.

Katniss marvels at how his touching her seems to bring him as much pleasure as it brings her.

As he continues to lavish attention on her breasts, Katniss looks down and sees his erection, large and full, springing up from his curly dark blonde hair. Acting purely on instinct, Katniss wraps her hand around it. She glances at his face and watches as Peeta's eyes roll back into his head.

"Katniss," he chokes out on a moan. His hands tighten involuntarily on her breasts, making her shudder. "Please…"

She grips him a little tighter and moves her hand up and down, the way she's done the handful of times they've done this before. His head thrashes back and forth on the pillow as he moans her name.

He is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

Before long, Peeta stills her hand with one of his own. Katniss looks at him questioningly.

"Please, Katniss," he rasps out, breath coming hard. "I want to be with you tonight. The way… the way we will be once we're married." He caresses her face. "Please, Katniss," he says again. It sounds like pleading.

Katniss' eyes grow wide. They have never done that before. But whether the shock she feels now is from what he is asking her, or from the sudden realization that she wants to feel him inside of her, too, she doesn't know.

Wordlessly, she moves off of him and lies next to him on her back, spreading her legs a little. When he rolls over, she expects him to simply thrust himself inside her. She tries to brace herself for the pain she heard other girls whisper about in school.

But instead, Peeta props himself up on one elbow and begins tracing the slippery wet folds between her legs with his fingers. The sensations coursing through her are intense – too much to bear. She cries out and squeezes her eyes shut. He focuses his attention on the sensitive nub that they, together, learned gives her the most pleasure. Katniss writhes uncontrollably and arches her back off the bed, just as he had done a moment before. She cannot control the moans that escape her.

And then, suddenly, Peeta's hand is gone and he is on top of her. She spreads her legs a little wider to accommodate him, her heart racing. He's trying to find a way to balance his weight on his elbows so he doesn't crush her. She is so nervous and excited she can barely breathe.

With one hand he guides himself to her center. He pauses, takes a deep breath, and looks in her eyes.

"Katniss?" he asks her quietly. He's asking permission.

She nods.

He pushes into her, then, all at once. It isn't gentle, and what she feels isn't remotely close to pleasure. But it also isn't the agony she'd been fearing. She relaxes her muscles in her lower body, only then realizing that she'd been tensing up in anticipation.

Peeta looks down at her face. He's stilled all movements, but he's trembling badly. "Are… are you ok?" he asks with a tremulous voice.

She smiles. "Yes. I'm fine, Peeta." He nods at her, tries to smile back, and bends down to kiss her forehead.

And then he begins to move inside her.

It doesn't feel bad, exactly. But the pushing and the pulling she feels deep within her is uncomfortable and strange, and not at all something she imagines she will ever enjoy.

But it is clear to her that Peeta is having a radically different experience. His face is contorted in pleasure, buried in her neck. His whole body is tensed as he moves inside her, like a bow string pulled taught. His breathing is ragged against her ear as he moans his pleasure.

Katniss snakes a hand down to touch herself where his fingers had been moving just moments ago in an attempt to rekindle the blaze he'd awoken earlier with his gentle touch. But before she can get there, Peeta cries out brokenly and collapses against her, trembling and gasping for breath as he finishes deep inside her.

They lie together, unmoving, for many long moments afterwards. She brushes the sweaty fringe of his hair away from his forehead as he caresses her arm.

After a few minutes he laughs softly.

"I think I may have enjoyed that more than you did," he says, sheepishly.

Katniss clears her throat. "Probably." There's no use denying it. They're to be married, aren't they? She sees no need to keep this kind of secret from him.

He rolls over and supports his weight on one elbow. Kisses her gently between his eyes.

"Sorry," he murmurs softly. "Did I… hurt you too badly?"

"Not too much," she says, honestly.

"Give me another chance?" he asks her, shyly, after another long pause. One corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile.

Katniss smiles back at him, and pulls him on top of her once more by way of response.


	13. Chapter 13

_a/n: Another huge thank you to __**Court**__**81981 **__for reviewing my rough outline for the rest of this story, for reviewing an early version of this chapter, and for being such an incredible source of support throughout. Thank you as well to the fabulous __**Chelzie**__ for reviewing an early draft of this chapter and for giving me oxygen as needed. ;) _

_And of course, thank you to everyone who's given me reviews/follows/favorites along the way, and to the tumblr community for being so incredibly supportive. _

_This chapter opens with Haymitch's perspective. From now on, whenever we hear from Haymitch it will be in the present day. No more flash-forwards._

* * *

_October 1935, New York, New York_

It's unseasonably cold for an October morning in New York.

Haymitch wraps his coat tightly around himself before stepping off the subway platform. Still shivering, he takes the stairs leading to the street outside two at a time, hoping the brisk movement will help warm him up.

Once outside he hurries along the crowded sidewalk in the direction of his office. But he stops before he's gone more than two blocks when he sees a boy peddling newspapers. He digs a few pennies out of his pocket and hands them to the boy in exchange for today's edition of _The New York Times_.

This is part of his daily routine.

Normally, Haymitch waits until he's got some of his secretary's coffee in his system before reading the morning paper. The headline on today's front page, however, catches his eye and makes him stop right in the middle of the sidewalk and begin reading.

It's to do with Germany.

To Haymitch's unending consternation, America's newspapers – even its best newspapers – rarely report much about what's happening outside America's borders. The country, after all, is at peace. And there are more than enough domestic concerns at present to keep the politicians and reporters busy for years. The consensus among almost everyone is there is simply no need to add to these concerns by worrying about whatever might be happening abroad.

What's worse, to the extent Haymitch is able to find an American newspaper reporting anything at all about Germany or Hitler, it's usually a piece praising the country and its leader. Praise for the way he's governed. Praise for the way he's brought the country back from the brink of economic disaster.

Because while America doesn't systematically discriminate against Jews the way Germany does, Haymitch learned almost immediately after emigrating here that America does not care so very much for them, either. The fact that German Jews are suffering and starving is of little consequence to the politicians and people of America.

The precious little Haymitch knows about the current state of the country he left three years ago has come not from official news channels, but rather in bits and pieces. From letters from his niece. In details his colleagues have learned from family left behind.

It's enough to tell him that American news sources are less than worthless with respect to what is actually happening in Germany.

Haymitch is nearly late for his departmental meeting so does not have time to read this article thoroughly. A brief look tells him the article details a new set of draconian laws the Nazi Party implemented one month ago. (He is horrified, of course – but not at all surprised – that news about German laws passed in September are just now being reported in the United States.)

"The Nuremberg Laws," the _New York Times_ calls them. It is not clear what Germans are calling these laws, if in fact they are calling them anything at all.

His review of the article is brief. But it's sufficient to make him feel nearly violently ill.

Haymitch tucks the newspaper under his arm so he can read the article in more detail later.

Rushing off to his meeting, he vows to himself to redouble his efforts to convince Katniss and her family to leave Germany as soon as possible.

* * *

_December 1936, Frankfurt am Main_

Gale is already waiting for them when Katniss and Prim step outside the front door of their home.

When he sees them he gives Katniss a wan smile. Katniss tries to smile back at him. But she's distracted when she sees the sun, just now beginning to peek out over the horizon.

They should have left for the bakery an hour ago.

Katniss turns to face her sister, standing immobile and leaning against their front door. Prim's blue eyes are puffy from crying. Her long blonde hair is tangled from not having had sufficient time this morning to comb it.

"Prim," Katniss says, trying to convey all the love and worry she feels for her sister in that single syllable. "We have to go now."

"I can't do this, Katniss," Prim says, her voice barely above a whisper. She covers her face with her hands.

"You can, Prim," Katniss says urgently. "You _must_."

Gale walks over to Prim and takes the two heavy satchels she is carrying, slinging each one over a shoulder. These bags contain Prim's most beloved possessions. The things she cannot bear to leave behind.

"I'll carry these for you," he tells her, kindly.

When Katniss explained their plan to Gale a week ago he immediately volunteered to help. But his face is an expressionless mask this morning. Gale knows, of course, that now Peeta will be able to protect Prim in a way he never can. Katniss suspects this must be an agony for him.

Katniss takes her sister's hand. "We have to go now," she says again. As it is, the bakery will likely already be full of customers when they arrive and their flimsy story will be overheard by too many ears. Waiting any longer will only make matters worse.

Prim sniffles and wipes her face with her sleeve. She looks at her sister, and at Gale.

She wordlessly allows Katniss to lead her away from their home.

* * *

They decided, last night, to make this trip on foot. Given how difficult it has become for Jewish passengers to find a seat it is no longer wise for Jews to travel by city bus if they need to be someplace at a specific time.

On a day like today, when time is of the essence and they need to attract as little attention as possible, a bus is simply not an option.

As such, it takes them well over an hour to reach the bakery. By the time they arrive the sun has fully risen and the electric streetlights have switched off.

Katniss tells Prim to go inside without her. When she sees the alarmed look on Prim's face she quickly adds, "I'll join you inside in ten minutes." A hasty attempt to reassure. "But there are probably too many people inside for us to walk in together."

Prim nods and takes her satchels from Gale. She slowly opens the door and disappears inside.

Katniss buries her face in her hands and tries to fight the tears that have been threatening to fall all morning.

Because the moment Prim walked into the bakery she stopped being her sister and became Primrose Mellark – Peeta's long-lost (and entirely fabricated) cousin who just moved to Frankfurt from the remilitarized Rhineland.

To protect Prim from the persecution that Katniss; their mother; the Hawthornes; _all_ German Jews; now face, no one can ever again know that Prim is a Jewish girl. Peeta and Streu moved to a part of Frankfurt where nobody knows them and have agreed to absorb little blonde-haired, blue-eyed Prim into their family of two. To the world, they are her cousins.

Everyone who works at the bakery, and many of its regular customers, know Katniss by sight. Given her hair and her coloring they all naturally suspect she is Jewish. But none of them have ever met Prim. If she and Prim arrive together Katniss worries their already shaky explanation for Prim's identity will likely seem even less plausible.

Because notwithstanding the dramatic differences in their coloring, the similarities in the shapes of their noses, the placement of their eyes, and the set of their jaws make the fact that they are relations obvious to anyone with the power of sight.

Katniss closes her eyes. She leans against a street lamp and counts to one hundred, trying to gather strength. Then she does it a second time.

After she reaches one hundred for the third time she turns to Gale expectantly.

"Go on, Katniss," he tells her with a wave of his hand. Katniss notices, for the first time, the dark circles under his eyes. "I'll wait out here. I just don't think I can look at him right now." He looks right at her, his heartbreak and his defeat etched plainly on his face. "It would be better, for me, if… if he were easier to hate, Katniss," he continues quietly. "But now…"

Gale slumps against a streetlight and trails off before he finishes his thought. But Katniss can guess at his meaning well enough. She puts a hand on his arm and nods at him sympathetically, understanding. Wishing, and not for the first time, that she could be the girl who loved Gale back.

When Katniss walks into the bakery a few moments later she immediately takes note of the apprentice waiting on customers in the front of the shop.

Katniss sighs, disappointment flooding her.

Then again, this certainly won't be the first time she's had to pretend to be someone else in order to see Peeta. Nor is it likely to be the last.

This artifice became necessary a little over one year ago, when the Nazi government enacted the Nuremberg laws as a way to protect the "purity" of German blood. While Katniss was dancing in Peeta's arms at Finnick's wedding; and afterwards, while he was holding and kissing her as they dreamed together about their future; Nazi party leaders were convening in Nuremberg, designing the very laws that now make their love against German law.

They learned about it four days later. The very night that Katniss finally worked up the courage to tell her mother that she had agreed to marry Peeta, the government interrupted the regularly- scheduled radio programming to announce that it was now a crime for Jews to marry, or to be intimate with, anyone the government considers to be of the "Aryan race."

That same radio program also informed Katniss and her family that they were no longer German citizens. All Jewish Germans are now considered wards of the state.

Katniss still tries to see Peeta as often as they can manage it, even though she knows their actions – if discovered – could lead to either or both of them being arrested. Beaten. Sent to any of an increasing number of labor camps scattered around the country.

Streu has made the danger they are putting themselves in abundantly clear on countless occasions.

But they spent more than a year apart because of his mother. After deciding to spend the rest of her life with Peeta, Katniss knows she would not survive a life without him. And Peeta has made it clear to her – repeatedly – that he feels the same way.

So they try to be careful.

In the letter Peeta wrote her the day after the government's announcement, he tearfully (or so Katniss assumes; the letter was riddled with inky smudges) proposed that they stop meeting openly in public places. In her letter back to him Katniss agreed. Told him she thought this was for the best.

Katniss also suggested that he stop visiting her home. Jews may no longer employ non-Jewish Germans, and there is no legal, legitimate reason for him to be in her home that would satisfy the authorities were he discovered. Peeta wrote back that he would miss her family's _Shabbat_ table desperately but that she was, of course, right.

Katniss can occasionally steal a moment or two of happiness with Peeta at the bakery itself. But only if she arrives long before dawn. If she can get there early enough, and if they are alone, Peeta will take her to the back room where Beetee keeps the books, carefully lock the door behind them, and kiss and kiss and kiss her until her hands curl into fists in his hair.

But if they are not alone when she arrives Katniss has no choice but to pose as the Jewish housekeeper she pretends to be twice per month when she visits him at his flat. On those visits they do not dare speak to each other beyond simple pleasantries. Peeta will not touch her unless it's to hand her a loaf of bread.

In truth, those visits are almost worse than not seeing Peeta at all.

Bertrand, the apprentice waiting on customers in the front of the shop, approaches Katniss, breaking her out of her reverie.

"May I help you?" he asks her, pleasantly.

"Err," Katniss begins, looking over to where loaves of bread are neatly stacked against the wall. It really doesn't matter which she selects – she has no intention of buying bread today. But she feigns indecision all the same as she scans the selection.

"Fräulein Everdeen." Katniss' head snaps up at the sound of Peeta's voice. He's walking over to her purposefully

Katniss doesn't think she will ever grow accustomed to Peeta using her surname to refer to her. "Err… Herr Mellark," she says, trying to tamp down her discomfiture and the blush that must surely be rising on her cheeks. "Has… has your cousin Primrose arrived safely?"

"She has," he responds, nodding. "And thank you for coming. I want you to meet her," he tells her, a knowing look in his eyes. "She's very nervous about moving into my home. Understandable, of course – the girl has been through so much." He coughs into his hand. Katniss marvels, and not for the first time, at how effortlessly Peeta spins half-truths and outright lies. "I thought that if you could reassure her that her cousins are not, in fact, barbarians, it might put her mind at ease."

"Of course, Herr Mellark," she replies immediately. This, of course, had been part of the plan from the beginning. She follows Peeta as he takes her behind the bakery and into Herr Beetee's office.

Prim is sitting at the little chair in the corner of Beetee's office when she arrives. Her face is in her palms, and her small body is shaking with noiseless sobs.

Katniss looks up at Peeta in alarm.

"I'll leave you alone with her, Fräulein Everdeen," he tells her, kindly, as he closes the door behind him.

"Prim?" Katniss asks tentatively.

"Don't make me do this!" Prim wails. "Please! Don't leave me!"

Katniss hurries over to where Prim sits and gathers her into her arms. Katniss begins to rock her gently as she cries, just as she did when she was a small girl.

"Shh, Prim. Shhh," Katniss whispers into her ear. Both to reassure her and to quiet her. It is not safe for her to have an outburst like this here. The walls of Beetee's office are thin and the bakery is crowded.

The rocking motion seems to sooth Prim. She continues to cry, but her body relaxes into Katniss' embrace. She seems to be trying to calm herself enough to speak again when she hiccups, once, and sniffles loudly.

"I love you, little duck," Katniss tells her.

"I know," Prim whimpers. "I love you too."

"Things will be… so much better for you this way, Prim," Katniss continues, in a gentle murmur, smoothing the hair back from Prim's forehead.

"Will they?" Prim asks, weakly.

"Of course, Prim," Katniss responds immediately. She knows Prim knows this already – they've been over it half a hundred times – but she thinks it might soothe Prim to hear their reasons again. "You'll be able to be a German citizen again. Vote, if you want to. Sit anywhere you like on a city bus. Live wherever you want to live when you get older."

Katniss braces herself for the rest of it. The _real_ reasons why she asked Peeta and Streu to do this for her family.

"And… you'll be able to continue with your studies, now. You can become the doctor you were destined to become, Prim." Because Jews are no longer welcome in state-run schools and are now officially banned from medicine and all other professional fields. "And you will never, _ever_ have to worry about things getting even worse for you if the government decides to pass… other laws."

Katniss does not elaborate on what those _other laws_ might be. But Streu has been clear enough on that score, with all of them. Katniss knows there is no need to elaborate now.

Prim says nothing for a long moment. "I just... I will miss you so much, Katniss," Prim says, eventually. The sadness in her voice is plain, but she sounds more like herself again, which reassures Katniss. "Seeing you once a week on your visits… it won't be the same."

Prim swallows audibly before continuing. "And I will worry about you so much. And… and about Rory."

In the end, sixteen-year-old Rory – Gale's brother, and completely smitten with Prim – had been instrumental in convincing Prim to go along with this plan. He later told Katniss that he was willing to do anything – including sacrifice a possible future with Prim – in order to secure a better, safer future for her.

"I know you will, Prim," Katniss tells her. She gently kisses her forehead. "Rory knows it too. But he wants this for you."

The sisters are silent for a long time after that. Prim continues to allow Katniss to rock her gently.

"You'll be safe with the Mellarks, Prim. They're good men," Katniss tells her eventually. It comes out as a whisper. She feels her own tears beginning to well up again but she squeezes her eyes shut. Fights them off. "Peeta… was going to be your family anyway. It's just that… well, now he'll be your cousin instead of your brother."

Prim moans quietly. "Oh, _Katniss_…" she says, on a broken sob.

Katniss hugs her sister tightly and finally allows her own tears to fall.

* * *

"Is everything all right, Fräulein Everdeen?" Peeta asks her as she leaves Beetee's office. His tone is level. But his eyes quickly take in her disheveled features and puffy eyes, betraying his concern.

"Yes, Herr Mellark," she tells him, clearing her throat. "Fräulein Primrose will be fine. Just fine."

Peeta manages a small smile. "I'm glad to hear it."

Katniss looks at him a long moment and then silently mouths the words: "Thank you, Peeta." Peeta shakes his head an infinitesimal amount. His way of reminding her they aren't to do this – not even for a moment – if there's any chance at all that someone might see.

"Will you be by on Sunday, then?" he asks, his tone formal. Redirecting her.

"Of course, Herr Mellark," she tells him. "I will see you at two in the afternoon, just like always."

Peeta smiles at her. "I'm glad. Nobody… cooks and cleans… the way you do, Fräulein Everdeen."

Katniss looks down at her hands. She flexes her fingers, wishing, as she always does on these visits to the bakery, that she could touch him.

"Now, let's see if Bertrand can't help you select the perfect loaf for your family's dinner tonight," he says, steering Katniss towards the main part of the shop once more. He places his hand at the small of her back as he does so, making her shiver involuntarily.

Five minutes later, Katniss has a loaf of rye bread under each arm. Before exiting the shop she pauses, briefly, and pivots to face the direction of Beetee's office. She holds three fingers to her lips, and then holds the hand aloft.

Her wordless goodbye to Primrose Everdeen.

Gale is still leaning against the same streetlamp when she exits the bakery.

Wordlessly, he opens his arms for her. She runs into them. He wraps her up tightly.

She begins to sob.

"Come, Katniss," he murmurs into her hair. "Let's go catch our bus home."

* * *

At the end of the day, as their bus finally comes to the stop near Peeta's and Streu's new flat, Peeta looks out the window and sees Streu at the stop waiting for them.

Peeta turns to Prim and smiles.

"We're here, Prim," he tells her, touching her shoulder. She nods wordlessly in response.

Prim's face is the picture of stoicism. Her jaw is set. Determined. But as Peeta takes her hand to help her climb down from the bus he notices she is trembling.

Despite the necessity of this new… arrangement, Peeta knows what a horrible shock this must be to Prim. To leave her family, and to know she must convince the world that she is not a Jewish girl, but rather Primrose Mellark, possibly for the rest of her life.

Peeta promised Katniss that he will do whatever he can to keep Prim happy and safe. And he will try. He can give Prim his name and his home, and he believes (or, at the least, fervently hopes) that he will be able to convince any skeptics that Prim is, and always has been, his cousin.

Whether or not he can actually keep her safe, however, remains to be seen, and he knows that. His stomach sinks just thinking of it.

It's only a short five minute walk from where the bus let them off to the flat Peeta moved into with Streu two weeks ago. Peeta misses their old flat – it was more modern and closer to the bakery. But Streu had lived there for nearly eight years and knew all of his neighbors. They could not simply show up one day with a cousin they'd never previously mentioned without raising suspicions.

When they arrive Streu sets Prim's things down on the stoop and he opens the door.

"Welcome home, Primrose," Streu tells her with a kind smile.


	14. Chapter 14

_a/n: We're nearing the end of the story, folks. Only 4 chapters left to go after this one, and then an epilogue. Thanks so much for reading._

* * *

_March 1937, Frankfurt am Main_

Katniss knocks on the front door of Peeta's flat.

While she waits for Peeta she fingers the letter from Uncle Haymitch that she stuffed in her pocket before leaving home this morning. She nervously adjusts the collar of her coat in a feeble attempt to keep Peeta from noticing that her collarbones are starting to jut out too sharply again.

But because of Mama's illness, she hasn't been able to visit Peeta and Prim in more than three weeks. And his blue eyes miss nothing. She knows he will notice.

Peeta opens the door moments later. When he sees her a broad grin spreads across his face. But he quickly schools his features. He knows he cannot allow his face to broadcast what he's thinking if there's any chance a neighbor might see.

Peeta is so much better at this than she is.

"Fräulein Everdeen," he tells her, calling her by her surname as he does whenever they are in public together. "Please - come inside," he says, slipping effortlessly into the formal voice Katniss knows she will never grow accustomed to.

She does as he bids her, brushing off the light dusting of snow that fell on her coat during the long walk from her home. She sets her broom and dust rags down on the floor in his entryway. Her props; part of her necessary costume for her visits.

Peeta carefully closes the door behind her. Katniss briefly notes that all the window shades in his home are drawn and the lights are dimmed. She steels herself, gathering her courage to tell him what Haymitch's letter says.

But before she can say anything at all, her back is pressed against the wall and Peeta is trailing kisses down her throat.

"Missed you… so much…" Peeta tells her urgently, their façade over now that they are safely inside, as he hungrily kisses up her neck with lips and tongue.

"Missed you too…" she whispers, deciding the letter can wait for the moment. She leans her head back against the wall to give Peeta better access. Without moving away from her he fumbles with the buttons of her coat. It slides off her shoulders and onto the floor, puddling at her feet by the door.

Peeta, wasting no time, scoops her up into his arms as if she weighs nothing at all and practically runs with her to his bedroom.

"What about… where's Prim…?" Katniss asks him, weakly, as Peeta gently sits her down on his mattress.

He kneels on the floor in front of her. His eyes are hooded and dark as he shoves the front of her dress up over her waist. "At a friend's house," he tells her. He's breathing heavily, and Katniss knows it's not from the exertion of carrying her to his bedroom. "Back in half an hour."

Katniss nods. They don't have much time, then. She whimpers as Peeta tears down her undergarments and spreads her legs.

"Katniss," he murmurs, reverently, running his hands over her thighs before dipping his head between them.

Peeta has not been inside her since that first time more than one year ago. Despite the fact that Katniss yearns to feel him moving inside her once more – despite the fact that his eyes betray how desperately he wants it too - they both know it can never happen again.

After all, he would not be able to marry her if he were to get her with child.

So they've become adept at pleasuring each other in other ways.

Katniss lies back on Peeta's mattress as he gently, slowly, strokes her with his tongue. Sound travels well in Peeta's home and she knows she needs to remain as quiet as possible in case Streu or Johanna is in the kitchen. She crams her hand into her mouth to ground herself, to keep from crying out, as he moves his mouth and the intense sensations wash over her.

Katniss cranes her neck a little so she can see him. The sight of her Peeta, kneeling on the floor, his eyes trained on hers and his face buried between her legs, causes her to moan loudly before she can stop herself. His eyes flutter closed at the sound and he moans a little in response, causing reverberations to rocket through her and inflaming her even further. She drops back down onto the bed and whimpers again, helpless. Her hands thread through his hair and she pulls, hard, involuntarily, drawing another, louder moan from him.

Without moving away, Peeta takes two fingers and slides them inside her. He pumps them in and out – slowly at first, and then more rapidly. And it's nearly more than Katniss can bear.

She wants to prolong this; she doesn't want it to be over already. But she cannot find the words to tell him. It's just been _so long_ since she's been alone with Peeta like this – weeks; almost an entire month – and already she feels herself listing precipitously close to the edge.

When Peeta sucks the little pearl at the center of her into his mouth and swirls his tongue over it she falls to pieces.

"Oh God, _Peeta_ -!" she cries out, loudly, past caring who might be around to hear, as her body convulses and the cresting pleasure consumes her.

A few moments later he crawls up her body and lies on the bed next to her.

Still trying to catch her breath, Katniss rolls over and kisses his mouth. She can taste herself on his lips.

"I love you, Peeta," she tells him, before kissing him again. She doesn't get to say it to his face very often anymore. She tries to do it frequently when they are together.

He nuzzles her neck and kisses her collarbone. Skims his fingers over it and frowns a little.

"I love you too," he tells her, his voice husky with desire. If he notices that she's lost weight since the last time they were together he doesn't mention it. He simply kisses her again, probing her mouth gently with his tongue.

Without breaking the kiss he takes her hand and gently brings it down to where his erection strains against the fabric of his trousers. His wordless way of asking her if it can be his turn, now.

As if she could ever deny Peeta anything he wanted.

Still kissing him, Katniss strokes Peeta through his pants for a few moments and then squeezes firmly. At his sharp intake of breath, Katniss breaks the kiss and moves down his body so that her face is level with the front of his trousers. She knows Peeta likes it when she goes slowly with him, and so when she takes him out of his pants she doesn't rush. She caresses him with her tongue, slowly, running the tip of it up and down his length as he chokes on his breath and begins fisting the sheets.

"Katniss," he whispers breathlessly. "_Please_…"

A moment later, Katniss hears the front door of Peeta's flat slam shut.

"Katniss?" Prim's excited voice rings out down the hall.

Katniss takes her mouth away and looks up at Peeta. No matter how badly she wants to stay with him right now they can't do this while Prim is here.

These infrequent visits are her only chance to see her sister, too.

Peeta tries to smile at her. His wordless way of telling her he understands. But he cannot keep the disappointment from showing on his face.

"Go on," he tells her. Smiles again, this time more successfully. "I'll just… um… join you girls in a few minutes, all right?" He props himself up on his elbows and touches her hair.

Katniss kisses him again – in love and in gratitude. She quickly adjusts her clothing so that she is decently attired once more and slips out of his bedroom to greet her sister.

"Katniss!" Prim squeals when she sees her. Katniss opens her arms as wide as she can and Prim runs straight into them.

* * *

An hour later, Johanna and Streu invite Katniss to stay for dinner. "I've made veal," Streu tells her with a smile so like his youngest brother's it's uncanny.

They always ask Katniss to stay for dinner when she visits. And as tempted as she always is to accept, she usually declines as politely as she cans. It grieves her to keep these visits short but she knows it's necessary. The longer she stays, the harder it will be to convince nosey neighbors that she is nothing more to the Mellarks than their housekeeper.

But she still needs to talk with Prim, and with Peeta, about Uncle Haymitch's letter. It cannot wait until her next visit, whenever that might be.

So today, she stays for dinner.

When Katniss sits next to Peeta at the dining room table his smile lights up the room.

To Katniss' immense relief, Prim is more animated than she has seen her in years. Gone is the anxious, terrified girl who had to be practically dragged to the bakery against her will three months ago. Over dinner, Prim tells her all about her new school and how nice everyone is. She is so excited she barely pauses to chew her food as she talks.

"And my chemistry instructor is incredible," she says, enthusiastically, through a mouthful of potatoes. "He says he'll work with me after school as often as I want. And he's always talking to me about what to expect when I start university. Even though that's still a few years off, and even though I'm a girl." She shrugs.

Johanna sets down her glass of water at Prim's comment, a look of mock horror on her face. "A _girl_? Going to _university_? Why, I've never heard such a scandalous thing, Prim!" Johanna laughs as if she's just said the funniest thing she's ever heard.

Streu shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Sorry, Prim," he tells her, sheepishly, as if he's in some way responsible for the shocking things Johanna says. He puts his hand on Johanna's arm and she swats it away, sticking her tongue out at him.

Katniss glances back and forth between Johanna and Peeta's older brother. Perplexed, as always, about the specifics of their… well. About the specifics of _them_.

She knows that Johanna lives here. And she knows that Johanna and Streu are together, the way that she and Peeta are together. Or, rather, in the way that she and Peeta _would_ be together if it were allowed.

But Katniss also knows that Streu and Johanna are not married, and that confuses her. They _can_ get married, so why don't they? It's certainly the normal thing to do when two people are in love. Whenever she tries to ask Peeta about it he just throws up his hands and says he doesn't understand it any better than she does.

After the meal, as Johanna and Streu begin clearing away the dishes, Katniss clears her throat and tries to steady her nerves.

She can't put this off any longer.

"We got a letter from Uncle Haymitch last week, Prim," Katniss says. She can't keep the tremor out of her voice. She takes the letter out of her pocket and places it in front of her sister.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Prim says. She picks it up and begins to read.

It's in English, like everything Haymitch sends them. Prim struggles with the language almost as much as Katniss does. But the information in this letter could not have been clearer if Uncle Haymitch were here, in person, saying it to their faces in German.

Prim's eyes are wide as saucers when she sets the letter down.

"He wants us to move to America," she says, very slowly.

Katniss nods.

Peeta reaches across the table and takes the letter from Prim. "But that's nothing new, is it?" he asks. "He's wanted you to join him in New York ever since he left Germany."

"That's true," Katniss says. "But… he has a plan now, Peeta." Her throat is suddenly very dry, and she reaches for her glass of water with a shaking hand. "A plan to bring us over."

She watches Peeta nervously as he scans the letter.

When he's finished reading it he looks at her.

"He's working with three synagogues in New York to raise money for your family," he tells her, incredulous, as if she hadn't read the letter and didn't know this already. "They're… halfway to having enough money for the three of you to emigrate."

Katniss nods. "Uncle Haymitch sent another letter the following day. He explained why he waited so long to tell us. He wanted to wait until he felt confident he could raise enough money before telling us about this," she says. "In case he couldn't… make it happen."

Peeta stares at her, his eyes wide. "Katniss…" he begins. And then trails off. He takes her hand. "You… you have to let him do this for you."

Katniss' eyes fill with tears. She swipes at them with her free hand. "I know," she says, quietly. Of course she knows. The Germany her father steadfastly refused to leave five years ago – the Germany that was the Everdeens' home for generations – doesn't exist anymore. What's remains is no home to them.

They simply cannot stay.

The room falls silent. Peeta looks down at Katniss' hand in his own. He lifts it to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to it. His hand is trembling.

Katniss glances at Prim to gauge her reaction. She had expected Prim to be overjoyed at this news. But her sister's face is unreadable.

"Peeta will come with us, of course," Prim says eventually, breaking the silence. It isn't a question. Her tone of voice is forceful, brooking no opposition.

Peeta's eyes grow wide again.

"My… my god, Prim. Katniss. I…" Peeta trails off and runs his free hand through his hair. He shakes his head as if to clear it.

Katniss strokes the back of his hand with her thumb. She silently thanks Prim for bringing up the point she had been terrified to broach with Peeta herself. Because it was one thing for Peeta to give up the mother he had always despised for her. It's another thing entirely to ask him to leave everything he has ever known and move across the world with her.

But how can she leave _without_ him?

"Peeta," Katniss murmurs. He is growing extremely agitated, which in turn makes Katniss even more nervous. She kisses his cheek in an attempt to calm him. In an attempt to calm herself. "I want you to come with us." She nods at his incredulous look and kisses his other cheek. "I do."

He swallows audibly and looks her in the eye.

"We could get married in America," she tells him slowly. He cups her face in his hands at her words and she leans into his touch. "I could be your wife."

But Peeta shakes his head vigorously at her words, startling her. "Oh god, Katniss. I _want_ to go with you! But… but I don't have anything saved…" His eyes are wild, now. Desperate. They bore into hers. "I can't ask your uncle to help me emigrate too! That would be taking money away from your family. And I _can't_ ask you to wait here for me until I've raised enough for myself..."

Katniss pulls him to her and kisses him, fiercely, on the mouth, cutting him off. "So you want to come?" she asks, after pulling away. "Once we can save enough, you'll come?"

"Katniss, are you out of your head?" Prim cuts in. She sounds almost angry. "You _really_ thought Peeta would choose to stay here when you leave for America?"

Katniss doesn't know how to answer that. Because part of her has been worried, ever since receiving Uncle Haymitch's letter, that even after everything Peeta has done for her and her family to date, this would simply be one ask too much.

"Katniss," Peeta tells her, firmly. "I hate this country. I have no intention of staying behind… if… if I can help it." He buries his face in his hands. "But I don't know what to do, how to do this… where to begin…"

She lifts his head. She puts her index finger under his chin and forces him to look at her.

"If you want to come with us, Peeta, we will find a way," she says, nodding, smiling at him. Trying to appear confident, even though she feels anything but.

The room falls silent once more. Katniss cannot hear any noise from the direction of the kitchen and wonders, briefly, if Johanna and Streu have been listening in to this entire conversation.

Not that she has anything to hide from them.

Peeta clears his throat a little, breaking the silence. "If… _if_ we can make this happen, Katniss… I'll marry you the second we arrive," Peeta murmurs to her in a shaky voice. "I promise."

He pulls her to him and clutches her tightly. She wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his neck. Breathes him in.

* * *

Slowly, ideas come to them.

On Katniss' next visit, Peeta tells Katniss tells that Delly, his cousin in America, recently married a German-American businessman.

"His name is Thom," Peeta tells her, as he tangles his legs with hers underneath the table. "They met a year ago. In church. Anyway, I think he's rich." He smiles at her. Nudges her ankle with his foot. "It sounds like he is from her letters, anyway. So now Delly is too."

Katniss' heart leaps into her throat at his words. "Do you think Delly would help you?"

Peeta nods. "I do. We were close as children. Still are close, in fact. We write each other all the time."

And so before Katniss leaves for home that day, they sit together at Peeta's dining room table as he composes a letter to Delly, explaining the situation and pleading with her for any help she might be able to give.

Katniss knows Peeta is perfectly capable of writing this letter himself – he's always been so much better with words than she is – but he insists that she sit with him while he writes and asks for her input all the same. He has her look over the letter, twice, to make sure she approves, before he seals it up and puts it in the post.

"Now I guess we wait," he tells her, shrugging.

* * *

A week after they write Delly, Uncle Haymitch sends a letter in which he tells Katniss to sell the family home as soon as is practicable.

Katniss recognizes the wisdom in Uncle Haymitch's advice. Even though they are unlikely to get much money when they sell it – desperate Jews all over Germany are selling their homes and businesses for anything people are willing to pay them – every _mark_ that selling it brings them is a _mark_ they don't have right now. And will bring them that much closer to their goal.

But it's the only home she has ever known. The house she lived in with her Papa. And so despite the prudency of selling the house it still takes Katniss several weeks to work up the nerve to approach Mama about it.

"We don't need it anymore, Mama," she tells her one rainy Saturday in late April as emphatically as she can. Katniss is on her knees, holding her mother's face in her hands as she implores her to listen.

But Mama's eyes are vacant today and she doesn't respond to what Katniss is saying. Mama looks past her to a spot in the distance where Katniss knows, without needing to check, that there is nothing to see.

Katniss looks helplessly to Peeta and Prim. They came with her today, despite the risk their being here poses to them, because Katniss thought their presence might be able to convince Mama of the urgency of this plan.

"We'll be leaving Germany soon anyway," Katniss continues. "And we can move in with the Hawthornes as early as tomorrow. I asked them, and they said it was fine." Katniss glances at Prim and shakes her head an infinitesimal amount. Wordlessly instructing her not to correct her in this lie. "They'd be glad to have us, Hazelle said. She's already made room for me in Posy's bedroom, and you can share Hazelle's bed."

At this, Mama finally looks at her daughter. "But… but… where will your father sleep, Katniss?" Ilse Everdeen asks, her voice low and slurred, her eyes still fixed on nothing. "There isn't room for him at the Hawthornes' house."

Peeta comes up behind Katniss and places his hand on her shoulder. He helps her to stand.

"I think you're going to need to do this without her," he murmurs in her ear. He presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

Katniss looks over to Prim, who says nothing, her lips pressed together in a firm line.

* * *

One exceptionally warm day in mid-summer, Katniss lies with Peeta in his bed. After spending the afternoon kissing and touching each other they are little more than a sweaty, tangled heap of arms and legs.

"What do you think America is like, Peeta?" Katniss asks quietly, her head resting on his bare chest.

Katniss knows she needs to return home soon. But she is desperate to prolong her time here as much as possible all the same.

"Well," Peeta says, slowly, drawing out the word, seemingly lost in thought. He begins tracing invisible patterns with his fingertip on her forearm, raising gooseflesh and making her shiver. "I think… it's a place where people can be whatever they want to be."

"You really think so?" she asks.

Peeta nods. "I do. Prim won't have to hide anymore, for starters. She will be able to be Primrose Everdeen again, _and _a nurse, all at the same time. Maybe even a doctor, if she wants. I'll be able to own my own bakery and will still have enough money left over to buy a house." He tilts her chin up with his index finger and presses a kiss to her mouth. "A house for me and my wife to live in."

Katniss rolls on top of him, despite the warmth of the day and the fact that they only very recently spent themselves in each others' arms. "Can you paint a picture for me, Peeta?"

He threads his hands gently behind her head and pulls her down into another kiss. "Of course," he tells her. His eyes drift downward and he covers her small, bare breasts with his hands. "What do you want me to paint?"

"A picture of our house in America," she tells him, earnestly, choosing to ignore, for the moment, the sensations that run through her as he gently strokes her nipples with his thumbs. "The house that we're going to live in when you own your own bakery and Primrose Everdeen is a nurse and I'm your wife."

He tears his eyes away from her breasts and looks into her eyes.

"All right," he murmurs, nodding. "I will." He chuckles a little, and looks sheepish. "I've been picturing it in my mind ever since you brought over that letter from your Uncle Haymitch," he admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "So it shouldn't take me long."

* * *

_October, 1937, Frankfurt am Main_

The loud noise that rings out through the bakery is so jarring – so out of the natural order of things for an early Thursday morning – that at first Peeta doesn't even register that anything has happened.

But then a woman screams, and he hears the loud noise a second time. And suddenly, Peeta realizes that something is very, very wrong.

He quickly wipes his hands on his flour-covered apron, mumbles some rushed instructions to Bertrand about the loaves still in the oven, and runs to the front of the bakery where the commotion is coming from.

When Peeta gets there his blood turns to ice in his veins.

He sees, immediately, that the loud noises he heard were gunshots. Two men wearing the uniforms of the Gestapo stand in the center of the customer area, pointing their guns at Albert, the young apprentice working in the front this morning.

There is nobody else in the room. Whoever screamed – it must have been a customer; as a rule, Herr Beetee does not employ women– has apparently fled the scene.

Albert looks terrified. He stands stiffly in front of the bread racks, his eyes wide, _wild_, and his hands sticking straight up into the air.

Peeta tries to speak but it is several moments before he is able to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"What – what is going on here?" Peeta eventually manages. Beetee is feeling poorly today, and Peeta is in charge of the bakery this morning. He knows he needs to sound manly. Brave. To his immense chagrin, however, his voice is little more than a high-pitched squeak, and cracks in the middle of his sentence.

"We are looking for Herr Beetee," one of the uniformed men tells Peeta. He brandishes a piece of paper bearing a seal, but he's standing too far away for Peeta to make out what it says. "He's under arrest."

The other man points to Albert. "And this _boy_ wasn't forthcoming with his boss' whereabouts." It comes out as a sneer.

"Herr – Herr Beetee, you mean?" Peeta asks in shock. He is thunderstruck. What could the Gestapo – the Nazi secret police; the force responsible for investigating cases of treason, espionage, crimes against the State – _possibly_ want with Beetee?

Peeta's head spins as he wracks his brain for a possible explanation.

Could Beetee be involved in some illegal, or even seditious, activity that Peeta isn't aware of? Peeta has known for years that his _own_ activities – housing a Jewish girl and helping her pass as a non-Jewish German; carrying on a secret love affair with a Jewish woman – would, if discovered, be more than adequate grounds for an officer of the Gestapo to arrest him and take him to a detention camp.

But _Beetee_? What could Beetee possibly have done to attract the Gestapo's attention?

"You can put your weapons away, gentlemen," Peeta continues, trying to remain calm, trying to mask his confusion, his fear, so as not to arouse the officers' suspicion. "Herr Beetee is not here."

The first man scoffs. "You expect us to believe that? He is the owner of this establishment, is he not? The business bears his name."

Peeta nods. "You are not wrong. But I'm his business partner," he lies. "Beetee is not young anymore, and I – along with the apprentices who work for us – conduct a good percentage of the bakery's day-to-day operations." That part, at least, is true, Peeta thinks to himself.

The men look at each other. "Let's search the premises," one says to the other.

He pauses a moment before turning to Peeta and saying, "Of course, you realize that if we find you are _hiding_ Herr Beetee from us, the penalties you face will be the same as his."

The man does not elaborate further. But there is no need. The government makes no secret of the fact that if the Gestapo finds cause to arrest somebody, that person will be sent, post haste, to Dachau or another detention camp. There will be no trial. And the accused has no right to appeal the Gestapo's decision.

Peeta blanches at the threat but stands his ground. "You can obviously search this place if you wish to do so," Peeta says, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. "But I can assure you, gentlemen. Herr Beetee is not here."

The two men ignore his assurances and walk to the back of the bakery without waiting for further invitation.

As soon as they leave the room Albert falls to the ground. Peeta rushes over to him.

"Are you hurt?" Peeta asks the boy in a low voice. "I heard gunshots…"

"I'm not hurt, Herr Mellark," Albert says, weakly. "They shot their guns into the air to frighten the customers. And… and to frighten me."

Albert lifts an arm and weakly points upward. Peeta sees the two smoking black holes in the ceiling that the bullets made upon entry.

Peeta takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly in an attempt to calm himself down. He runs his hands through his hair.

"Did they tell you what they wanted with Herr Beetee? I didn't get a good look at that paper they showed me." Peeta's voice is barely above a whisper. Sound travels well in the bakery, and the last thing Peeta wants is for the officers to overhear this conversation.

Albert shakes his head. "They didn't," he whispers back. "They just… told me to fetch him. And when I said I couldn't, the officers fired their guns."

Peeta claps Albert on the back. He intends the gesture to be a reassuring one – both for Albert and for himself – but the boy is so shaken from what just happened that he falls over again at the contact.

"Um… sorry," Peeta tells him, sheepishly. Albert nods his head, wordlessly telling Peeta that it's all right.

"Why don't you go home, Albert?" Peeta suggests sympathetically. The boy is clearly rattled, and white as a sheet. He's unlikely to be of much use to anybody today, Peeta thinks to himself.

Albert thanks Peeta and walks slowly towards the front door. He takes a deep breath, opens the door and leaves.

* * *

A few minutes later, the two men re-enter the front room of the bakery, _without_ Herr Beetee, their search of the premises apparently complete.

"Thank you for your time, Herr…" one of the officers begins, and trails off.

Peeta realizes he never gave them his name.

"Mellark," Peeta tells them. "My name is Peeta Mellark."

The officers look at each other, eyebrows raised.

"Mellark, you say?" the other officer asks, turning back to Peeta.

"Yes."

He scratches the back of his head. "I don't suppose you're related to Rye Mellark, are you? Handsome lad. Looks rather like you, in fact. He's our captain." He jerks his thumb towards the front door. "He's out there waiting for us in our vehicle."

At the Gestapo officer's words, the room begins to spin. Peeta finds himself suddenly unable to take in oxygen. He braces himself against the countertop with an arm so that he does not fall to the ground.

He opens and closes his mouth wordlessly several times but cannot speak.

_Oh, God. Oh, God._ _Rye._

As Peeta struggles to come to grips with what the officer has just told him, both men, to Peeta's great surprise, have the decency to look concerned.

"Herr Mellark? Are you all right?" the first officer asks.

Peeta nods. "I'm… I'm fine," he mumbles, even though nothing could be further from the truth.

He swallows audibly before continuing. "No," Peeta tells them, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He closes his eyes. "Rye Mellark is no relation of mine."

The officer shrugs. "Ah, well. It's not a terribly common surname, so I thought I'd ask."

Peeta, still reeling, nods his head but says nothing.

"Herr Mellark," the second officer says. "I will be going directly from here to Herr Beetee's home. Captain Mellark will come with me. And Sergeant Schaub, here," he claps the other officer on the back, "will remain at the bakery, with you, in the event that Herr Beetee arrives here before Captain Mellark and I are able to locate him."

"It is your duty as a citizen of the Third Reich to do everything you can to assist in this matter, Herr Mellark," Schaub tells him. "You must allow me to remain on the premises until we get word from our superiors that I am no longer needed here. Just in case Herr Beetee returns to the bakery before Captain Mellark and Sergeant Schwartz have located him." Schaub looks at Peeta sternly, as if he expects Peeta to protest this heavy imposition.

But Peeta does not protest. How can he? Rye - the brother who threw bricks through the Everdeens' window all those years ago; the brother he has not seen or spoken to since leaving his parents home - is a member of the Gestapo. And Rye, with the help of the two gentlemen standing before him, will most likely be taking Beetee off to a labor camp before the day is finished. A labor camp where he will likely be worked and starved until he dies.

Peeta knows that no matter what he does or doesn't do in this moment, he is powerless to prevent this from happening. Fighting them will only result in his own punishment. It will not save Beetee.

Peeta sits down heavily on the ground. He puts his face in his hands.

"Of course," he tells them weakly. "I understand."


	15. Chapter 15

_a/n: If you are still reading this story, thank you, so much, for your patience. In light of what's up ahead I admit I needed a bit of a fluff break before writing these final chapters (which is part of why I wrote my other story, Over an Open Field). But I'm so sorry for making you wait so long for an update._

_Many, many thanks to… well, to almost everybody I know in the fandom for talking me off the ledge with this particular chapter. A special thanks to Court81981, SponsorMusings, and Deathmallow for reading portions of this chapter. It's no stretch to say I couldn't have written this chapter (or continued this story which, yes, I am 100% committed to completing) without everyone's wonderful encouragement and support._

_That said, the time has come for the following trigger warning: Each of the remaining chapters features at least one minor character death. And… I hope you can forgive me for this chapter's plot twist._

* * *

_August 1938, Brooklyn, New York_

_Last week, Haymitch finally managed to convince Effie that a party welcoming his niece and Peeta Mellark to America was not something either of them would likely appreciate immediately after their long journey._

_As Haymitch makes his way with the two of them onto the subway car that will take them to his walk-up in Brooklyn, he realizes just how prescient he'd been. And what a mistake it would have been to have expected them to mingle and socialize with his colleagues and neighbors their first night here._

_They shuffle aboard the train behind Haymitch and collapse into the first open seats they find. Haymitch is grateful that this car is less crowded than it normally is at this hour. It means they will not have to stand for the final leg of their journey._

_Haymitch glances across the aisle at his niece. Primrose looks utterly exhausted. The circles under her eyes are dark and prominent, giving her a raccoonish look, and her eyes droop closed the moment she sits down. _

_Haymitch remembers what his own voyage across the sea had been like five years ago. There was barely enough to eat, and he'd been crammed elbow to chin with terrified strangers for more than a week._

_He can hardly bear to think of his niece suffering similar deprivations._

_Haymitch has never been comfortable with outward displays of physical affection. Despite this, he reaches across the aisle and squeezes Primrose's knee in a way that he hopes comforts and reassures. _

_Primrose opens her eyes at the contact and looks at him blearily. She smiles a little._

_As the subway takes them through the city, over streets and motorcars, it is difficult for Haymitch to look at the boy sitting next to her on the bench. Haymitch finds he does not _want _to look at him. Peeta Mellark – this boy he only just met, but to whom he owes so much – looks so very like the paragon of Aryan virtue and perfection, with his goddamn blonde hair and blue eyes and ivory complexion._

_But he recognizes, too, that were it not for this boy – this _brave _boy, Haymitch forces himself to add; this brave and selfless boy – and his willingness to hide Prim's true identity and fold her into his own blonde-haired, blue-eyed family, Prim would be trapped right now in Germany with Katniss and Ilse. _

_He glances over at Peeta. The boy's eyes are closed and his head is in his hands._

_Peeta stays in that position, his face hidden, hunched over and unmoving, until they arrive at Haymitch's stop an hour later._

_When the car comes to a complete stop, Haymitch taps him gently on the shoulder._

"_Come," he says, brusquely but not unkindly. "We're here."_

_Peeta looks up at the older man. He nods, his blue eyes dull and lifeless._

"_All right," Peeta says in a monotone, shouldering his bag as he rises to his feet. "I'm ready."_

* * *

_November, 1937; Frankfurt-am-Main_

For the first nine days after the Gestapo's unannounced visit to the bakery, Peeta kept expecting, in spite of himself, that Beetee would appear at work at any moment, his hat askew and his whiskers in need of trimming. Just like always.

During those nine days Peeta would look up, reflexively, towards the front of the bakery, every single time the pealing bells over the front door indicated someone had arrived. Of course, the newcomer was inevitably Albert, or another one of the young assistants, or a customer. Never Beetee.

On the morning of the tenth day, Peeta wakes at dawn. He lies in bed for a few minutes, blinking at the ceiling.

He sighs and reluctantly decides that he needs to stop deluding himself.

Peeta knows what he has to do. And it might as well be now.

But he doesn't think he can manage it alone.

After dressing quickly, Peeta tiptoes past Prim's closed bedroom door and down the hallway of their flat. He slowly opens Streu's door and makes his way to the bed in the center of the room as quietly as he can.

Peeta gently shakes his brother's shoulder, taking special care not to disturb Johanna, curled up and snoring softly beside him. Peeta doesn't want to include the girls in this morning's errand. He knows he can't protect them from much, but at least he can keep them out of this.

After he's convinced Streu is awake, Peeta quietly murmurs his plans into his brother's ear. Streu looks up at Peeta and nods.

"Let's go," Streu mouths soundlessly to him. He pulls back the covers and carefully climbs out of bed.

A half an hour later – their silent breakfast eaten and their coffee drunk, the brothers ride their bicycles as quickly as they can towards the small house where Beetee has lived for decades.

When they arrive they find that the front door of the house has been torn clean off its hinges. The door, now little more than a splintered slab of wood, leans crazily against the opening to Beetee's home, only partially blocking the inside of the house from plain view.

Without warning, an image of his brother Rye in Gestapo uniform, standing here in front of Beetee's home with two other policemen, rises unbidden in front of Peeta's eyes. Peeta is suddenly light-headed and needs to lean against the house's brick siding for support.

"Peeta?" Streu asks, alarmed. He puts a steadying hand on Peeta's shoulder. "You all right?"

Peeta sits down heavily on the front stoop before his legs can give out.

"Yes," he says. But his voice is shaking. Peeta puts his elbows on his knees and rests his head, face down, in his hands. "I… I think so."

Streu sits down next to him.

"You knew what we were likely to find here," he reminds him, quietly.

Of course he knew. Peeta nods wordlessly, his face still in his hands, feeling like he might be sick at any moment.

"Take your time," Streu says, reassuringly, clapping Peeta on the back as he rises to his feet. "I can go inside by myself and have a look around while you stay here."

"No," Peeta says sharply, looking up. "No. Beetee was – _is_ – my boss," he says, quickly correcting his use of the past tense. "He's the reason I've been able to make rent since leaving home. And the wages he's paid me have let me help Katniss and her family."

He shakes his head.

"I'm going inside with you," Peeta continues. He takes a deep, steadying breath and closes his eyes. "I owe it to him to go inside with you," he adds quietly, almost to himself.

"All right, then," Streu says, kindly, extending his hand.

Peeta takes it, grateful that he'd thought to ask Streu to accompany him on this errand. Peeta climbs the porch steps on shaky legs and together, they push aside what used to be Beetee's front door.

The brothers gasp in unison when they see what's waiting for them inside. Because even if the door had been left intact, the signs of a prior violent struggle in Beetee's home would have still been unmistakable.

Broken furniture and smashed knickknacks – Beetee's possessions; the things he'd collected and cherished over a lifetime – litter the floor. A small lacquered box that looks, to Peeta, like the sort of heirloom that might have once held family valuables, lies empty and partially smashed in front of the stone fireplace in the back of the room. Papers are scattered haphazardly across the floor. And an unwholesome, sickeningly sweet smell of decay hangs heavy in the air.

Peeta stands frozen near the entrance and watches, helplessly, as Streu picks his way through the wreckage of the front room. He seems most interested in the papers scattered on the floor and walks straight towards them after giving the rest of the room only a cursory glance.

Streu kneels down to gather them up. Once that's accomplished, he leafs threm so intently that Peeta wonders if his older brother isn't looking for something specific.

"Shall we look through the rest of the house?" Peeta suggests weakly after a few minutes, his voice a mere croak. "Just in case… Beetee's… Beetee's hurt, or…"

Streu looks up abruptly from what he's reading and glances at his brother. "Sure, Peeta," he tells him, slowly. But Peeta has never seen Streu look this sad before, and his heart sinks. "Let's have a look."

Peeta knows, instinctively, that Streu is only humoring him now. After all, Beetee's home is small. Aside from the main room and a miniscule galley kitchen, there is just the short hallway and one small bedroom. If Peeta's honest with himself, he knows there's no chance at all of them finding Beetee this morning.

He's clearly not here. He's gone. Taken away.

But Peeta has to see for himself. Will always wonder, will never forgive himself, if he doesn't look in every room.

"On second thought," Streu says quickly, striding over to where Peeta stands. He clasps his brother's forearm. "Why don't you look through those papers over there," he says, pointing back towards the hearth. "And _I'll_ look through the rest of the house–"

"No," Peeta interrupts, stubbornly. "No. I'll look with you."

Streu looks him right in the eye. "Are you certain, Peeta?" he asks, quietly.

"Yes," Peeta says. But his voice is still shaky. "I am."

Streu nods, his face a mask of grim determination. "Ok then," he says. "But I'm leading the way." The tone of his voice brooks no opposition, and Peeta doesn't try to argue.

Which each step they take towards the bedroom the smell of decay intensifies. It does nothing to calm Peeta's nerves, and his stomach is roiling now.

"Streu…?" Peeta begins, and trails off, once Streu gets to the bedroom and peers inside. The way Streu is standing effectively blocks Peeta's view of the room. Peeta suspects Streu is standing this way deliberately, and he feels a flash of anger. But he says nothing.

After a long pause, Streu shakes his head, emphatically, in the negative.

"Let's go," Streu says, firmly. "There's nothing here to see."

As Streu turns to leave Peeta cranes his neck, impulsively, over one of Streu's broad shoulders and peers inside the room.

And he knows, now, what Streu hadn't wanted him to see: Beetee's lifeless body, already starting to decompose, lying face-down and crumpled in a heap in the middle of the room.

At the sight of it, all the blood drains from Peeta's face. He cries out involuntarily, just before his eyes roll back into his head and he loses consciousness.

* * *

Peeta comes to some time later, sprawled awkwardly on the settee in his own sitting room, the back of his head an agony.

He tries sitting up and groans as the full brunt of his headache hits him.

"Peeta?" Prim asks from the adjacent chair. Propping himself up on his elbows, Peeta turns a little to face her. She looks worried.

"You're awake," she says.

Peeta nods. "I am," he agrees, wincing as he gingerly touches the spot on the back of his head where he must have hit the ground when he fainted. "What… How did I…" he begins, and trails off. He wordlessly gestures to himself, and then to the room generally, hoping it's enough to get his point across.

"Streu carried you to the bus," Prim explains. "I think your bicycles are still at Beetee's house." She pales a little, and her eyes flit away nervously.

A wave of nausea hits Peeta as the immediate past comes rushing back to him. He runs his hands over his face and flops back down onto the settee.

"Peeta," Prim says, kindly. "I'm sorry. About… about Beetee, and…" Prim stops talking suddenly. Peeta glances up at her again, and now she's white as a sheet.

"Thank you," Peeta says, although he has no idea if _thank you_ is the right thing to say in this situation.

The two sit together in awkward silence for another long moment. Prim starts fidgeting with the hem of her dress. Peeta continues to lie on the settee, staring at the ceiling, knowing he probably should phone the bakery soon to explain his absence but wanting to do _anything_ but that.

"Streu left these for you before he went to work," Prim says eventually, breaking the silence. She gestures towards the end table next to Peeta. "Papers from Beetee's house. He said he can tell you what's in them, but he'll be working late tonight. And… and he thought you'd want to know as soon as possible what the Gestapo wanted Beetee for."

Peeta's eyes go wide as saucers. "Oh," he says, surprised. "You mean, that's what those papers were?" he asks.

Prim shrugs. "I haven't read them," she admits. "Streu said I probably wouldn't want to know what's in them." She swallows audibly. "But, yes. Yes, Streu made it sound like the explanation for Beetee's… for his murder is in there."

"All right," Peeta says quietly, not knowing what else to say. "Um… thank you, Prim."

She nods and gives him a wan smile.

"I need to go to school," Prim says. She sounds almost apologetic. "We wanted to make sure you came to eventually… that you didn't need a doctor. So I stayed until you woke up. But -"

"Of course," Peeta cuts her off, waving his hand a little in a gesture that he hopes is reassuring. "And I'm fine now. Go ahead."

Prim ducks her head and flees from the room, so quickly it's almost as if she's worried that simply being in the same room as Peeta while he reads what Streu left him will frighten her.

Peeta can't help but wonder how much his brother told her about what they saw at Beetee's house.

After she's gone, Peeta sits up a little and collects the papers from the end table. He pages through them slowly, but none of what he's reading makes sense.

It all looks like gibberish.

The pages do mostly contain words. And they're grouped together in stanzas that look, at first glance, like sentences. But taken together the words mean nothing at all.

After about ten minutes, Peeta decides that this all must be some sort of code that Beetee, and no one else, was meant to understand.

Just as Peeta is about to give up in frustration and decide to wait for Streu to come home and just _tell_ him why he thinks the Gestapo came for Beetee, Peeta comes to a crisp piece of paper, on official-looking letterhead, that contains only a few short sentences.

It stands out from the gibberish, and so Peeta rubs his eyes and begins to read

_Herr Beetee:_

_We cannot thank you enough for your loyalty, and assistance, to our cause. Because of your tireless efforts, we estimate that over the past two years, we've been able to educate at least five hundred of your patrons. If we are ever able to eliminate Der Fuhrer as a threat to the safety of the German people it will be entirely due to the tireless efforts of Germans just like you._

_Again, we thank you. We, and all of Germany, very much look forward to, and count on, your continued assistance in the future._

_Very warmest regards,_

_P. Heavensbee_

By the time Peeta's read through the letter for the third time his hands are clenched into fists and the paper is beginning to crumple in his hands.

He realizes, suddenly, that he's destroying the document. Peeta forces himself to take some deep breaths and relax his hands. With great effort, he places the letter back on the end table.

When the shock at what he's just read passes enough for him to realize how easily he, Streu, Johanna, or Finnick could have met Beetee's same fate, had luck been against them when they'd unsuccessfully tried to infiltrate the _Hitler Jugend _several years ago, Peeta's body starts shaking.

Despite this, Peeta does his best to review the rest of the papers. Just in case there's something else in them that he needs to know.

* * *

_February 1938, New York, New York_

Thom met Haymitch for coffee near his office last Tuesday to discuss today's meeting.

At first, Thom briefly explained to Haymitch how meetings with mid-level immigration officials typically go. "But you don't have worry about those typical meetings," he'd assured Haymitch with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Because your meeting won't be typical."

After all, Thom explained, last month he gave Stuart Henderson, the government flunky who's helping bring their families to America, five hundred dollars under the table. "In exchange for 'extra special treatment,'" Thom added with a wink.

Because of this, Thom told Haymitch that instead of them needing to wait for hours to see Mr. Henderson like most applicants do, Mr. Henderson's secretary likely would show them to Mr. Henderson's office immediately after he and Delly get there.

Thom said that Mr. Henderson would welcome them to his small, windowless office, and exchange some vapid pleasantries with them for a few minutes. Delly and Haymitch would then be asked to present the detailed dossiers they'd prepared. They'd need to explain to Mr. Henderson how they intend to fund their family members' transport across the ocean, as well as what the four of them will be doing and where they'll live once they arrive.

Thom told Haymitch that Mr. Henderson would likely take a cursory look at everything they'd presented him. "For appearances' sake," Thom said with a knowing look. Mr. Henderson would likely shake Haymitch's and Delly's hands shortly thereafter and, without further ado, hand them the first set of documents they'll need to bring Peeta, Primrose, Katniss, and Ilse to America.

"And the necessary Visas should arrive two to four months later," Thom continued, taking a gulp from his mug of hot coffee. "It should all be relatively straight-forward, Abernathy. You already have nearly enough money to get all three of your family members out. And we can easily afford to bring Delly's cousin over right now; especially since the older one, Streusel, refuses to leave."

Thom steepled his fingers together before continuing. "Money is usually what holds this process up, you know," he said, a conspiratorially. "Especially when people can't afford to pay men like Mr. Henderson a little extra to speed things up. I can't see your meeting taking longer than fifteen minutes." He paused then, and laughed. "Well, maybe twenty. My wife will be there, and Henderson's quite the flirt."

Haymitch had left that coffee shop feeling more confident of success than he had in years.

* * *

Now, however, as Haymitch fidgets in the uncomfortable straight-backed chair across the desk from Mr. Henderson, it's very clear that getting his family out of Germany won't be nearly as easy as Thom had promised.

Haymitch pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. He glances at his pocket watch for what must be the third time in the past twenty minutes. And he sighs, thinking back to his lunch with Thom and trying to stem his rising anger at just how wrong Thom had been.

How partially wrong he'd been, anyway. Getting Peeta's and Primrose's papers had certainly been straightforward enough. Thom's money, Delly's winning smile, and the fact that Peeta and Primrose are, to both the American Government and the German government, a pair of flaxen-haired, blue-eyed Germans, were all that was needed to get their two dossiers approved on the spot and the process for securing their Visas started.

It's Katniss and Ilse Everdeen that are the problem. Haymitch is so angry about it he's fighting with himself to keep from throwing the glass paperweight on Mr. Henderson's desk across the room.

Mr. Henderson has been on the telephone for over thirty minutes with his supervisor. He's only agreed to make this call because of the money Thom paid him a month ago. But Mr. Henderson was upfront with Haymitch and Delly before he placed this call: he has little hope that he'll be able to get the government to approve a pair of unmarried Jewish women to emigrate here.

The look in Mr. Henderson's eyes when he said it told Haymitch everything he needed to know.

Finally, Mr. Henderson returns the telephone to its receiver. He looks back and forth between Delly and Haymitch. He sighs, and frowns.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Abernathy," he says. And he does sound sorry. "But there's nothing I can do."

Haymitch closes his eyes and grits his teeth. "But, _why_, goddamnit? I was allowed to emigrate here five years ago with no trouble at all."

"It's just not as simple for them," Mr. Henderson explains. His tone of voice is matter-of-fact but not unkind. "You had an employer – a prestigious one, at that," he adds, respectfully, "to vouch for you." He shakes his head. "The truth is, Mr. Abernathy, America doesn't want Jews any more than Germany does. We aren't persecuting the ones that are _already_ here, of course. And your life, here, as a Jew is much better than it would be back in Germany." He clasps his hands in front of him. "But the American government doesn't want any more of you showing up on our shores than absolutely necessary."

Mr. Henderson pushes his chair back from his desk and stands up, wordlessly signaling to both Haymitch and Mrs. Doellefeld that this meeting is over.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now, Henderson?" Haymitch practically barks at the man, getting to his own feet. "Just sit here, in the lap of luxury, while the only family I have left suffers and starves?"

Mr. Henderson walks to the door and opens it. His way, Haymitch knows, of letting them know it's time for them to leave. But Haymitch just crosses his arms. Resolutely stays put.

"I don't know, Mr. Abernathy," Mr. Henderson says apologetically. "I wish I did. But my hands are tied."

* * *

_May 1938, Frankfurt-am-Main_

The Hawthornes' house isn't home. Despite the countless hours she's spent here since childhood, Katniss knows it never will be.

But now that her own childhood home has been sold to another, German family, and Katniss and her mother are living with the Hawthornes, Hazelle does everything she can to make it feel like a home for Katniss and her mother. Little things that add up, like trying to cook Mama's favorite foods for dinner; making sure that Katniss always has the soap she prefers in the wash room.

And for these efforts, Katniss is exceedingly grateful.

The Hawthornes don't have a lot of space. Just the main room, the kitchen, the room where Hazelle sleeps (which she now shares with Mama), the one big room in the back for the boys, and the tiny room in the alcove that Katniss now shares with young Posey. But it's a cozy house, and between what the two families manage to pool together (plus, to Gale's consternation, Peeta's continued financial assistance) there's always more than enough to eat.

Katmiss does miss having her own bed, of course. It's been a very warm spring and the bed she shares with Posey is small. Katniss' sleep is fitful here, especially on those nights when Posey is restless and she kicks.

But she tries to remind herself that this situation is temporary. And Katniss knows that soon enough she'll be sharing a bed with Peeta every single night. In America.

When Posey lands a particularly hard kick to the middle of Katniss' back it helps her to remember that.

She hasn't heard from Uncle Haymitch about the specifics in a few months. But she knows he's doing everything he can to bring her to America as soon as possible.

As Posey sleeps beside her, Katniss holds out her left hand. In the moonlight, she can just make out her fingers. She touches the spot where Peeta's ring will go and she smiles.


	16. Chapter 16

_a/n: Thank you so much to everyone who's been waiting so patiently for an update to this story. Your reviews, follows, and favorites (and your patience!) mean more to me than you could possibly know._

_A special thank you to Court81981, MalTease, Deathmallow, and SponsorMusings for prereading sections of this chapter for me and for their endless support throughout._

_My outline tells me that there are about three chapters remaining after this one. My personal life will be getting much busier very soon (all good stuff, fortunately) and so I am very motivated to have this story finished ASAP. Or at least before the end of the summer. Here's hoping I can make that happen. :)_

* * *

_August 1938, Brooklyn, New York_

_It's nearly dawn, and the first weak rays of sunlight are beginning to filter into Haymitch's flat through the slats in the vertical window coverings._

_Peeta stretches and yawns. He's awake at first light, just like always. He doesn't have a job to go to yet of course. But after a lifetime of waking with the roosters Peeta knows he will never be rid of this particular habit._

_He has a slight crick in his neck from sleeping in one position for so long. Haymitch's couch is certainly no bed. But it's also a hell of a lot more comfortable than those hard wooden planks that served as both pillow and mattress on the ship that brought Peeta to America, and last night's was the best night of sleep he's had since leaving Frankfurt. _

_The weather was stifling yesterday when they finally arrived at Ellis Island after ten days at sea. The hot, humid summer air hit Peeta in the face like a furnace blast the moment he and Primrose, their sweaty hands clasped tightly together, stepped off the boat. _

_He can already tell that today will be another hot day. His hair is sticking a little to his forehead even though his pocket watch on the table next to him shows it's only a little after five in the morning. _

_It's also going to be a very long day, given that he doesn't plan to return to Haymitch's flat until he finds work. _

_But neither heat nor fatigue really matter much to Peeta anymore. _

_Peeta crosses over to the small kitchen window and pushes aside the dainty curtains that he knows, without even having to ask, must be Effie's contribution. He peers out, and marvels at the fabulous view of most of Brooklyn that Haymitch has from his kitchen._

_Off in the distance, jutting up from the horizon, Peeta can just make out the outline of those famous skyscrapers that, before yesterday, he'd only read about in school and in letters from Delly. _

_They're only shadows and angles from this distance in the early morning light. Even still, the very sight of them makes his heart race. _

_He wonders where he'll find the job that will help him make a home for Katniss once she finally joins him here. Will it will be here, in Brooklyn, close to Haymitch and Delly and Thom? Or will it instead be on one of the topmost floors of one of those magnificent tall buildings across the water?_

_Peeta is so lost in thought that when Effie comes up behind him and places her manicured hand on his arm, he jumps, completely startled. _

"_You've just travelled across the ocean, dear," she chides him gently in German. As if he didn't know that already. He can tell by the slight frown on her face that she disapproves of him being awake at this hour. "You really should still be resting, don't you think?"_

_Effie's already all made up, with giant pink curlers in her hair. She's wearing a big fluffy bathrobe that dwarfs her petite frame. Peeta can't help but feel disdain towards her; she's so naive and so privileged._

_But he tries to temper his annoyance, because he knows that the only thing Effie is truly guilty of is having been lucky enough to be born in America._

"_I can't rest," he says back to her in English. Peeta never wants to be reminded of Germany again and plans to speak English, and only English, from now on._

"_You poor thing," Effie tells him, picking up on his language switch and switching to English herself, her frown deepening. The sympathy he hears in her voice grates on his nerves, even though Peeta knows it's sincere, and he turns his back on her to look out the window again._

"_I need to find work today," he says. "I can't rest right now."_

"_I think it can wait a few days Peeta." She touches his arm again, and he yanks it away from her._

_He turns to face her, and he can feel his eyes grow hard._

"_No," he barks at her without really meaning to. He winces inwardly at the harsh tone of his voice. "I can't wait a few days." _

_If he rests in Haymitch's comfortable flat while Katniss is still in Germany, hiding God only knows where, he'll go mad._

_To his relief, Effie doesn't press the issue. She retracts her still-outstretched arm and folds both arms across her chest._

"_All right, dear," she capitulates, nodding a little. "Would you at least like some coffee? And maybe some breakfast before you go? I'm making some anyway."_

_Peeta's stomach rumbles, audibly, by way of response. Effie laughs a little at the noise – an innocuous tinkling that further irritates Peeta, even though he knows she means no harm by it._

_But he is hungry, obviously._

"_Yes," he answers grudgingly. He decides he might as well eat, given how long his day will be. And it feels like he hasn't had coffee in ages. "That would be great." _

_He swallows. _

"_And… thank you, Effie," he forces himself to add._

_She smiles and shuffles off to the ice box. He watches her as she kneels down and opens its brown wooden door._

"_Would you like two eggs or three?" she asks with a quick glance over her shoulder. She turns back to the ice box and rummages through its contents. "And can I make you some toast?"_

* * *

_July 1938, Frankfurt-am-Main_

When it's finally time for Peeta to go home for the day, he brushes the sweaty fringe of hair off his forehead with the back of his hand. He wearily wipes down the bakery's countertops with a damp rag and lets out a long sigh.

Today was brutal, and felt like the longest day he's had in months.

It's Tuesday, and on the second and fourth Tuesdays of each month, _Peeta Mellark's_ (the new name for what was formerly Herr Beetee's bakery), and all other businesses in this section of Frankfurt that still conduct business with Jewish customers must, pursuant to a new law created six months ago, allow a thorough premises inspection by Gestapo officials.

Despite their inherent intrusiveness, until today Peeta's found most of the inspections to be quicker and more painless than he'd expected they'd be when the law first passed. Not that they aren't still disruptive to business, of course. But the officers are ostensibly only there to search for what the Nazi government has vaguely described in the newspapers and over the wireless as "contraband."

As such, aside from a few routine questions on each visit the officers typically keep to themselves while they're there.

The officers usually just poke around the bakery a bit, approaching the job with varying degrees of seriousness depending on who's doing the inspecting. It's usually clear that the Gestapo officers don't want to be there any more than Peeta or his employees want them there, and Peeta suspects the officers, like himself, view these regularly scheduled inspections as a waste of time.

Today, however, one of Peeta's newer hires – Stohl; a tall boy of about fifteen years, and easily provoked – didn't take kindly to the questions the officer conducting today's inspection asked him. Somehow (and Peeta never did find out exactly how), within minutes of the officer's arrival a fistfight broke out between the officer and Stohl in the back storage room.

It had taken all of Peeta's skill in negotiation, and a sharp blow to his own face, to break up the fight and keep Stohl and two other young apprentices from being carted off in the back of the officer's automobile.

By then, Peeta's employees were all so rattled they were accomplishing literally nothing. Peeta decided he might as well let everyone go home and close the bakery early.

The officer spent the next two hours poring over every nook and cranny of Peeta's bakery, making a very grand production of it and taking copious notes. And so Peeta stood alone in the front room, hands on his hips, periodically dabbing at the slow trickle of blood coming from his nose as the officer finished his work.

Every so often the officer – who couldn't have been much older than eighteen or nineteen himself – would glance up from what he was writing to glare menacingly at Peeta. Whenever he did, Peeta would flinch reflexively as he tried, and failed, to keep from thinking of Beetee.

But the officer left an hour ago, and Peeta is finally free to go home and seek solace in Katniss' arms.

Peeta walks to the front door of the bakery – _his_ bakery, now – and opens it. Even though the altercation with Stohl happened hours ago, Peeta's hands still shake as he tries to turn the lock of the front door with the key. He has to take multiple deep breaths to calm himself enough to manage the task.

_This will be behind us soon, _Peeta tells himself, as he bicycles towards home along the quiet streets of Frankfurt as quickly as he can. A city that is unrecognizable, to Peeta, from the Frankfurt of his childhood.

Although on the surface, everything in Frankfurt looks much the same as it ever did, nothing _feels_ the same. Peeta cannot remember the last time he overheard children laughing, or saw them playing ball in the streets the way he, Cato, and their friends used to do after school. And it's been ages since he last saw elderly ladies chatting idly together on their front stoops the way they always seemed to be doing when he was a boy.

Nobody talks about it anymore, but everyone knows that the SS's network of spies are everywhere, and that anything someone says – innocuous or not; seditious or not – could be reported to the government by anyone at any time. This knowledge hangs heavy in the air, and puts an invisible, but palpable, strain on everyone.

Even lively, sociable Streu no longer hosts impromptu dinner parties. What happened to Beetee is on their minds constantly, and their little makeshift family of four has far too much to hide from the Nazis to risk hosting friends anymore. They do visit with Finnick and Annie on occasion, but aside from that they more or less keep to themselves now, much as families all over the city do.

_Only a few more months. Soon we'll be in New York._

Peeta repeats these words to himself over and over again like a mantra as he bicycles home in the warm summer afternoon, as if repeating them were enough to make them true.

* * *

When Peeta arrives home, he immediately takes off his flour-covered apron and hangs it up on one of the pegs by the front door

Peeta turns around and is thrilled to see that Katniss is already here, waiting for him in the darkened sitting room, just as they'd planned in their last series of letters to each other.

Peeta grins broadly and rushes towards her.

It's been nearly six weeks since the last time they saw each other. They don't take chances anymore. Not with the Gestapo, and SS spies, everywhere. And not since Beetee. They usually confine their communications to letters, but carried by hand rather than sent via post because Streu tells them the post can no longer be trusted. And they visit one another in person like this only when they cannot bear being apart another moment.

Seeing her in his home again, Peeta itches to touch her. To carry her to his bedroom and unbutton her dress.

But when he gets to her side he stops short. Her eyes are downcast and her shoulders are slumped. He can immediately tell that something is very wrong.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks, alarmed, kneeling down next to her on the floor. She turns to look at him and she's paler than he's ever seen her. Her eyes, though trained on his, seem to not really _see_ him, and it deepens his alarm. "What's wrong? What happened?" he asks, his words coming out in a rush.

She holds up a thick manila envelope by way of response. "I picked up your mail on my way here," she says, handing it to him. Her voice sounds strangled and Peeta notices, for the first time, that her face is streaked with the tracks of dried tears.

One glance at the postage and the writing on the front tells Peeta that this package is from the federal government of the United States. He hastily flips it over and sees the government seal has already been broken.

Katniss must have opened this package already.

If this is from America, it's obviously what they've been waiting ages for. The documents they need to emigrate.

_But why isn't she happy?_ Peeta wonders, worried. Katniss' reaction is the exact opposite of what he would have expected.

Peeta lifts the flap of the envelope and quickly pulls out its contents.

"Katniss, what…? I don't understand…" he begins, as he searches through the pages for some possible cause of her distress. "This is what we've been waiting for, isn't it? Here's my paperwork; here's Prim's… And look – the dates of departure are right here. Everything seems to be in order…"

"Only your papers and Prim's are in there," Katniss says in a monotone. "Go on, keep looking. There's nothing in there for me or my mother."

His eyes snap to hers at her words.

"What?" he demands loudly. "That can't be right," he mutters, but he's starting to panic now, as he hastily rifles through the papers a second time.

"It's the truth," Katniss says, flatly.

"Then yours must be coming separately…" Peeta says evenly, eyes on hers. But his voice is shaking, belying the confidence he's trying to convey.

"No," she tells him. She shakes her head and squares her jaw. "They rejected our applications. Look in the back. There's a letter there explaining… everything." Her voice catches on the final word.

But by the time she's finished her sentence, he's already found the letter she's talking about.

Peeta reads it, thunderstruck. Or he tries to, anyway; tears are beginning to prick his eyes and they obscure his vision. He can't really focus on the letter, but he's able to read enough of it to catch the thrust of it, and a few words stand out in sharp relief: "Jew Quota"; "Undesirable"; and "Next year."

"Katniss…" he begins, and trails off. He shakes his head. "We'll wait, then. All of us. We'll wait until -"

"_NO!" _Katniss cuts him off forcefully, making him jump. "You are _going to America,_ Peeta. With Prim. On the date of departure," she insists, jabbing her index finger at the papers in Peeta's hands.

"Oh, like hell I am," Peeta says back. "You really think I'm going to leave you behind?" he demands. "How the hell are you and your mother going to eat with me gone? Who's going to protect you from -"

"_Goddamnit, Peeta_!" Katniss cuts him off again, yelling this time. To his utter surprise she actually takes off one of her shoes and hurls it at him. It hits him square on the chest, and he cries out involuntarily when it strikes him. "What happened to Beetee could happen to _you_!"

Peeta grits his teeth. "No. It couldn't," he lies, knowing it's a lie and knowing that Katniss will see through it. "Streu and I are so careful, Katniss. Nothing will happen to us," he continues, evenly, trying to sound as sincere as he can.

Katniss scoffs. "Peeta," she begins, her voice shaking. Peeta glances down at her hands, clenching and unclenching rapidly at her sides and he realizes, in shock, that her voice is shaking in anger. "You've been hiding a Jew in your house and passing her off as a member of your family for years now. You're _fucking_ a Jewish woman!" She's shouting again. "If they find out, they'd take you off to one of those camps or kill you!"

"Katniss, you really think I could leave you behind?" he demands. "Because I can't. _I can't._" It's unthinkable. He's pleading with her now, begging her to see reason.

"And you think I could live with myself if something happened to you because of what you and your brother are doing for my family?" Katniss counters. "Or if something happened to Prim because America won't let me join you yet?" she asks, in a much quieter voice.

Peeta doesn't have an answer to that. Prim is Katniss' entire world, and he knows it would destroy Katniss if anything happened to her.

But Katniss is _his_ entire world.

"Katniss…" he begins, but trails off, not knowing what to say next.

Just then, as if on cue, his recently injured nose starts bleeding again. Peeta groans and tries to hide his face from her, knowing that his injury demonstrates the truth of Katniss' words. But she pulls his hands away from his face, exposing himself to her.

She takes a handkerchief from her pocket and wordlessly dabs at the trickling blood. She leans in and kisses his cheek as he closes his eyes.

"Let me go," she asks him, gently. "Please, Peeta. I'll join you as soon as I can."

"I_ can't_, Katniss," he tells her, his voice catching on her name. "Don't you understand that?" he asks, pleadingly, and bursts into tears.

Katniss gathers him into her arms, moaning a little and whispering his name. He sobs helplessly against her shoulder.

* * *

When Katniss wakes up two hours later, Peeta's bedroom is bathed in long shadows.

She rolls over a little and looks up at Peeta's sleeping face in the weak, waning light still coming in through his open bedroom window. The arm that's not wrapped around her is slung across his face and his mouth is open slightly as he snores softly.

She sits up – carefully, so as not to wake him – and tugs a sheet up to cover herself.

She looks at Peeta for a very long moment and tries to memorize his features. His beautiful, wavy blonde hair. His long, blonde eyelashes that she always half-expects to tangle together when he blinks. The soft smattering of freckles that just faintly cover the bridge of his nose; his cheeks; his bare, broad shoulders.

Katniss knows she cannot risk waking him. She'll never be able to go through with this if he wakes up. Even if she could, he'd never let her.

But she also cannot bear to not be touching him in what will likely be their last moment together for a very long time.

And so she reaches out to gently, gently trace the contours of his chest with her fingertips. As her fingers dance across his skin he mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep and shifts a little in bed. She immediately pulls her hand away, taking his murmuring and movements as a sign that she needs to leave this room, now, and stop putting off what must be done.

Katniss bends over and quickly finds the clothes he tore from her body after he carried her into his room. She dresses as quietly as she can. Reaching into the front pocket of her dress, she pulls out the letter she wrote in the hour before he got home.

She lays it gently on his bedside table so he'll be sure to see it as soon as he wakes.

Tears in her eyes, Katniss walks as quietly as she can towards Peeta's closed bedroom door. Before she walks through it she turns to face Peeta – her brave, wonderful Peeta – one last time. She kisses her fingertips and raises them towards him in a silent goodbye.

* * *

To her great relief, Johanna is home now. Katniss finds her alone and reading the newspaper at the kitchen table.

"Jo," she says, breathlessly.

Johanna turns from her newspaper and frowns at her. "What is it?"

"I need your help." She pauses at the quizzical look Johanna gives her. "And Streu's," she adds hastily.

Katniss crosses her fingers behind her back and prays silently that Jo and Streu will be able to help her execute her plan.

Johanna sets down her paper. "What kind of help?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Hide me?" she begs.

Johanna's eyes go wide as saucers.

"Sit down," Johanna says, motioning to the chair next to her. "You need to tell me what's happened."

* * *

Peeta's bedroom is completely dark when he wakes. He's a little disoriented (as he often is after waking from a long nap), and jumps a little when he pats the bed next to him and realizes Katniss is no longer there.

She must have already gone home. Without saying goodbye. His heart clenches painfully, and he wonders if she's still upset with him over their argument. He'd assumed, when she'd willingly and enthusiastically made love to him this afternoon, that they'd reached an understanding – that he would not, and could not, leave Germany without her.

He'd assumed that she had accepted this and agreed with him.

But she never, ever leaves without saying goodbye – they see each other so infrequently, after all. He swallows the lump in his throat as he realizes this cannot mean anything good.

Peeta fumbles around in the dark for a few moments until he reaches the switch on the lamp on his bedside table. He flicks it on and immediately sees the carefully folded sheet of paper lying next to it.

He picks it up and unfolds it, his heart already breaking, and he begins to read.

_My dearest Peeta,_

_When you read this letter, I will already be gone. Hopefully somewhere you will not be able to find me. _

_I knew, from the moment I saw that you received permission from America to leave and I had not, that you would not let me go. But you have to, Peeta. I cannot, and _will_ not, allow you to stay here for me._

_Take Primrose and leave for America next month as indicated in your documents. I want this for you and Primrose more than I've ever wanted anything in my life, Peeta. Please give it to me. I need to know that life can be good again for you and my darling sister._

_I'm here, and with help I will soon be hidden. And I am safe. I will follow after and find you as soon as Uncle Haymitch can bring me over. I promise._

_In the meantime, I will be loving you and thinking of you, endlessly, as always. And dreaming of America, a place where our children will be safe._

_All of my love,_

_Your Katniss_

Peeta reads the letter a second time, and then a third time. He carefully sets it down on the nightstand.

He reaches over and picks the lamp off the nightstand. With a shout, he throws it as hard as he can across the room. It hits the far wall of the room and its glass base shatters satisfyingly into a thousand brittle pieces.

"Peeta?" Primrose's worried voice appears on the other side of his closed bedroom door. "What's wrong, what's happening?"

Peeta buries his face in his hands, wondering if Katniss left a similar letter for her sister.

"Just a minute, Prim," he mumbles loudly enough for her to hear her. He still isn't wearing anything, and he needs to dress before he goes to talk with her.

"She's gone, isn't she," Prim says quietly from the other side of the door. It isn't a question.

Peeta closes his eyes and swallows the lump forming in his throat.

"Yes, Prim," he tells her, trying to keep his voice as even as he can. "I believe she is."


	17. Chapter 17

_a/n: Please disregard my last a/n where I said this story had 3 chapters left. I've decided to split things up into slightly shorter, hopefully more digestible chapters (rather than posting 3 mondo-huuuuge chapters to finish the story). I think it will probably work better for narrative purposes._

_Thanks to SponsorMusings and MalTease for pre-reading good chunks of this chapter, and to Court81981 and Deathmallow for cheering me on. And thanks again to everyone who's still reading along, reviewing, favoriting, and following. You're all the best._

* * *

_October 1938, Brooklyn, NY_

The waning late afternoon sunlight filters in through Haymitch's small kitchen window as Effie pours Haymitch and Peeta each another glass of wine. Peeta fidgets with his napkin and smiles wanly at Effie in thanks as she takes her seat.

"It's good to see you again, Peeta," Prim, sitting to Peeta's left, says to him in German, smiling broadly. To Peeta's relief and surprise, Prim doesn't mention anything about how it's been weeks since Peeta was last here. Of course, everyone here obviously knows he hasn't visited in a while. Perhaps she just found it unnecessary to say something about it.

"How've you been?" Prim continues as she takes a small bite of her dinner.

"Good," he answers, nodding, also in German.

When it comes to Primrose – an Everdeen again; now that they're in America there's no longer a need for her to pretend to be Peeta's cousin – Peeta makes his one single exception to his general prohibition against speaking German. Prim finds English almost as difficult as Katniss does, and it's obvious that speaking German with her while they're together has eased her transition to life in the United States considerably.

While Peeta spends his days and nights doing everything he can to forget, Prim appears to desperately need small reminders of the life she left behind. And so for her sake Peeta manages to stifle the bile that immediately rises now whenever he hears German spoken. But only just.

"I've been busy, I guess," Peeta adds, shrugging. "With work."

"Seems that way," Haymitch interjects, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a large swallow. "Haven't seen you in weeks," he continues, as blunt as his niece is polite.

"I guess not," Peeta admits. Between his day job at the delicatessen in Park Slope and his second, evening job at the shoe store around the corner from Delly's walkup, Peeta has been working nearly seventy hours per week for the past month. It's left virtually no time for sleeping or eating, let alone visiting with the sister of the woman who haunts his dreams, or with her uncle who Katniss so closely resembles.

But Prim became like a sister to him during the time they lived together. And so after weeks of her cajoling, tonight he finally agreed to make time for dinner with them. It's a Saturday evening and he has most Saturday evenings off, which is the only reason tonight is feasible at all.

"You're getting so thin," Effie clucks from the head of the table, her lipsticked mouth leaving a bright red ring on her water glass as she takes a small sip. "You can't keep up this pace, dear."

Peeta shrugs again. "It's fine," he tells her. Which is not entirely the truth. He's working so much that his back aches all the time now, and his legs are in near constant agony. It's gotten to the point where even when he's in bed at the end of his long day, sleep is often elusive.

But there are several very specific, and useful, benefits to his present arrangement. The physical pain takes his mind off of other, more significantly painful things. And given that he has almost no living expenses, living as he is with Delly and Thom, Peeta has never had more money in his life. Which he hopes and prays will eventually prove useful when his Katniss joins him here and he's finally able to make a home with her.

As a newcomer to America and to the city, Peeta finds living with Delly and Thom (who's lived in Brooklyn for over a decade) quite convenient. Comfortable, too. Delly wasn't wrong in her letters to him over the years: Thom is by all appearances a very successful businessman and he's built a very comfortable life here in New York for Delly and their infant son.

But to say Peeta actually enjoys living with the Doellefelds would be untrue. While he loves his cousin Delly, every moment spent with her and her happy little family is also a bitter reminder of what he's left behind. Of who _forced_ him to leave her behind.

In truth, there are many things his long workweeks allow him to escape. And to Peeta, it's well worth the aching back and legs.

"It's fine," Peeta repeats unnecessarily, and more harshly this time. He pushes a forkful of mashed potatoes around his plate. "I'm fine."

"Kid," Haymitch says gruffly. He steeples his fingers together and rests his chin on the point they make. "You're going to kill yourself at this rate."

Peeta scoffs. Haymitch laughs – a gruff bark of a laugh – at the sound. He looks pointedly at Peeta, at the prominent dark circles under his eyes that Peeta knows even without a looking glass in front of him are there.

"You think I don't know what it's like, kid?" Haymitch asks. He looks about to say something else, but before he does his eyes flit over to Effie, who Peeta notices out of the corner of his eye is looking down at her lap. When Haymitch sees her, something passes over his features and whatever he had been about to say to Peeta is forgotten.

Peeta wonders, briefly, if Haymitch had been about to tell him about the wife Peeta knows he lost many years ago.

"I need to make money," Peeta says simply. He takes a very large sip of wine from his own wine glass. He wonders, idly, if there's more wine in the kitchen if he finishes this glass. He wonders whether drinking lots of alcohol every day would make things better or worse. "So that's what I'm doing. Making as much money as I can."

"We already have enough money to bring her here, Mellark," Haymitch tells him. "We have enough to get both of them here. And even a couple of Hawthornes, too, while we're at it." Haymitch shakes his head. Peeta looks up at him and sees real sadness in his eyes. "Money was never the problem."

"I know that," Peeta says, waving his hand in frustration. "But…look," he snaps. "Can we not have this conversation right now? I just came by to visit and have dinner. I don't owe you any explanations."

Peeta bends to his plate and begins shoveling in the food in front of him without tasting it, already feeling guilty about his outburst but too sullen about it to apologize. Everyone else follows suit.

After another long moment, the only sound in the room is the noise of cutlery against china and the chiming of the grandfather clock in the hall.

* * *

Peeta likes to take long walks during the hour and a half break between his first job and his second. He has to stand in one place for many hours on end in both of his jobs, and these walks help stretch his legs. More than that, though, they're the best way he can think of to absorb everything he can about his new country. To drink it all in.

After dinner at Haymitch's flat, which ended awkwardly and sooner than it probably would have if Peeta were feeling more sociable, he decides to walk home instead of taking the subway. It's a beautiful, early fall evening, and Delly's home is less than two miles away. _Why not enjoy it_? Peeta muses.

Cradling the bag of leftovers that Effie pressed into his hands as he left, Peeta walks slowly along the crowded sidewalks, taking everything in.

When he first arrived in New York, Peeta worried his accent would set him apart. Used to living under a regime where _different_ meant only persecution and suffering, Peeta assumed his foreignness would make it hard to find acceptance or work. But nothing could have been further from the truth. Peeta has no time for friends, of course, but finding work had been easier than falling off a log, in spite of his slight accent, and he gets along well with all of his new coworkers and employers.

In spite of everything – the work, the heartache – and although Peeta's loathe to admit it to himself, New York City has been everything he dreamed of and more in terms of openness and opportunity.

On the few occasions when Peeta has had a bit of spare time on a Saturday evening, he's found Brooklyn to be alive with an almost palpable energy. And tonight is no different. All kinds of people – young people, elderly people, children, from every corner of the world, if the languages Peeta's hearing are any indication – are out in the streets, on the sidewalks, in cafes. The atmosphere is festive and lively, and it lifts Peeta's spirits just being around it.

He knows that a lot of European immigrants eventually find their ways to the different boroughs after immigrating to New York. But based on what he's seen so far he thinks Brooklyn will be where he wants to settle when the time comes.

* * *

Delly's walkup isn't far, but Peeta decides not to walk directly home.

It's nearly midnight, in fact, by the time he makes his meandering way through what surely must be the majority of Brooklyn's neighborhoods and arrives at Delly's flat. He knows he'll likely regret this decision later (he's opening the deli tomorrow morning; he needs to wake up in approximately five hours) but in the moment he doesn't care.

Delly and Thom live in a relatively spacious flat on the third floor of their building. Although it's well-preserved, the building is aging, and the stairs creak badly. When he enters the building Peeta takes his shoes off and tiptoes as quietly as he can up the two flights of stairs so as not to wake any of the neighbors, or his cousin and her family, at this late hour.

When he gets to Delly's floor, Peeta fits his key into the front door of the flat and turns it. Once it's unlocked he opens the door slowly in case Delly, Thom, or the baby is sleeping.

But Delly's still awake. She's in the front sitting room in her wooden rocking chair, her fluffy nightdress tied tightly around her, cradling Mitch in her arms and feeding him a bottle. The sight of them together like this fills Peeta with an overwhelming tenderness that's almost painful.

"Hi Delly," Peeta says in a loud whisper. He smiles a little and waves at her as she looks up at him.

She smiles back, but the dark circles under her eyes are a clear indicator of how little sleep she's gotten since Mitch was born six weeks ago.

"Hi Peeta," she tells him warmly. "Did you have a nice evening with Prim and Haymitch?"

He isn't certain whether an evening spent with the family of the woman he's desperately missing really qualifies as a "nice" one. But he knows that isn't the sort of thing Delly likely wants to hear right now.

"I did," he tells her, keeping his answer simple. "I hadn't seen Prim in weeks and… yes, it was good to see her."

Delly smiles again and then turns her attention back to the squirming bundle in her arms.

Wordlessly, Peeta walks past her and into the large walk-in closet that Thom converted into a small bedroom for Peeta in the months before he finally arrived. It's a bit cramped, but Peeta knows it's temporary. And regardless, the room accommodates his small mattress and little dresser where he stores most of his possessions well enough.

Most of the wall space in the room is taken up by hanging closet bars and clothes hangers (as Thom told him wryly when he moved in, Delly plans to turn this space back into a closet once Peeta moves out on his own) and a large window behind his bed. Because of this there is no space to hang anything. Peeta stores the one painting he was able to bring with him from Germany in the top drawer of his dresser because there is simply nowhere else to put it.

Sitting down on the narrow bed, Peeta slides open that top drawer and eases the painting out of its temporary home.

It's a silly thing, this painting. The sort of house Katniss asked him to paint when they first learned that Haymitch would be bringing the Everdeens over to America is a virtual impossibility here in Brooklyn. He knows that now that he's here. But when they were both still in Germany, he and Katniss would look at it together, her fingers tracing the white picket fence that surrounded the modest house with white siding, his hand covering hers. On those evenings they'd tell each other what they thought New York must be like. They'd argue over what to name their children and how to arrange their sitting room furniture.

There was just no way he could leave this painting behind when he left.

He knows Katniss has a painting of his to remind her of him. The one he did years ago, of her and her father, standing together in the old Everdeen butcher shop. But he doesn't know where she's hiding and he has no idea if she'll be able to see it where she presently is.

His heart clenches, painfully, just as it does whenever he looks at this painting now. Peeta returns it to the dresser and quietly closes the drawer. He lies down on his bed and runs his hands over his face.

Working as much as he does keeps the memories and horrible worries at bay much more than he'd thought possible. But after tonight – seeing Katniss' family; and even seeing Delly cradling her infant son – it is now impossible for him to think about anything but her.

Peeta rarely allows himself this indulgence, but tonight, he lets himself fall asleep thinking of Katniss' embrace.

* * *

The next morning comes painfully early. When the alarm by Peeta's bed goes off at five o'clock, he groans and clumsily slaps his hand on top of it to shut it off.

He stumbles out of bed, instantly regretting last night's stroll through the city. Pleasant though it was at the time.

Peeta turns on his small bedside lamp and quickly pulls on his deli uniform. He grabs his hat from the hook on the back of his bedroom door and puts it on, making his way into the kitchen as quietly as he can.

He starts a pot of coffee for himself and sits heavily down at the kitchen table, running his hands briskly over his face in a feeble attempt to wake himself up. As he waits for it to brew he notices an envelope addressed to him sitting in the middle of the table. One glance at the writing on the front tells him it's from Streu.

He pulls it towards him and sighs, flipping the letter over in his hands to stare absently at the seal on the back.

Streu has written him twice a month ever since he left, even though the cost of postage from Frankfurt to New York City must be ridiculously high. Peeta wonders, briefly, why Delly didn't tell him he had this waiting for him when he got home last night. But he quickly decides she must have had other things on her mind.

Or perhaps she thought telling him would only upset him.

Peeta pours himself a large cup of coffee and swallows it down as quickly as he can, hoping it's enough to get him through the first part of his shift at the deli. He grabs a nickel from the change jar on top of the ice box and stuffs it in his pocket, planning to grab an apple on his way to work from the elderly German vendor who likes to flirt with him.

Peeta is still angry with Streu for the role he played in ferreting Katniss away from him in the weeks leading up to his departure from Germany. Furious, really. He's quite certain this will never change.

But he also realizes, on some level at least, that Streu only did what he did out of a misguided sense of what was in Peeta's best interest. Through all the arguments, the tears, and even the fistfights, Streu stated, simply, and repeatedly, that Peeta needed to take advantage of this opportunity and get out.

"_I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen, Peeta_," Streu had finally admitted to him, two nights before Peeta left Germany, pressing a cold compress to the lip that his younger brother had busted for him ten minutes earlier with his right fist. "_And so will she._"

Peeta had thrown Johanna's favorite glass vase against the wall in response, shattering it. "_Fuck you,_" he shouted, before storming out of the house.

Those were the last words he'd said to his brother before leaving for America.

Peeta has regretted his final words to Streu for weeks now, but it hasn't been enough to get him to sit down and actually write his brother back.

Before Peeta heads for the front door of Delly's flat, he stuffs Streu's latest letter into his pocket, fingering it through the fabric of his slacks. In spite of himself, he's pleased, as he always is when he gets a letter from Streu, that he'll have something new from his brother to read.

* * *

Peeta doesn't usually open the deli. Normally, he doesn't begin working until seven-thirty. He's used to his train being so crowded on his morning commutes that he has to stand up all the way to Park Slope.

Today, however, Peeta left early enough that there are several seats to choose from when he climbs aboard his train. He sighs as he slides into the first available seat he comes to, grateful for the small luxury.

As the train pulls out of the station Peeta takes Streu's letter from his pocket. He opens it carefully, takes out the folded sheets of paper, and begins to read.

_Dear Peeta,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. _

_Things here in Frankfurt have been… exciting, I guess you could say. And not in the way they normally are. You might want to sit down for this. Are you sitting down?_

Peeta laughs loudly, ignoring the pointed looks he gets from the commuters around him. He reclines a little further in his seat by way of answer to Streu's question, even though he knows his brother can't see him do it.

_So. We're getting married. I know, I know – you probably never thought we'd do it. Frankly, I never thought we would, either. Not because I didn't want to, mind. I'm not sure what finally made Johanna agree to a "life of fucking domesticity," as she's always so disdainfully put it. But she's agreed to it all the same, and we'll be wed in a civil ceremony in five weeks._

_There are not enough words to describe how happy I am about this development, Peeta. I only wish you were going to be here with us to see it. I know that's selfish of me – I know it's for the best that you and Primrose left when you did – but I can't help it. _

_Katniss is well. _

Peeta closes his eyes. Streu includes a sentence or two about Katniss and how she's faring in every letter. But he never includes much substance – only enough to let Peeta know that she is healthy, she is fine, and she is not suffering.

He swallows the lump that rises in his throat before continuing.

_Now that she's convinced that you are well and truly gone, and are not about to hop on the first dirigible or boat back to Frankfurt, she's said I can tell you that she'll be moving back in with her mother and the Hawthornes again next week. She wants you to know that she'll be writing you the moment she's settled, and begs you to forgive her for what she's done, as she only had your best interests in heart when she ran._

_That final sentiment goes for me as well, come to think of it._

_I better end this now. Johanna's parents are coming by this afternoon for an emergency visit. Something to do with us not having the right doilies or… something. I plan to stay out of the way as much as possible, no matter how angry Jo gets at me._

_I hope you are well, brother. As always, you are in my thoughts._

_All my love,_

_Streu_

Peeta re-reads the letter before folding it back up and putting it in his pocket, his heart in his throat. Streu never mentions the fact that Peeta doesn't write back in any of his letters, which only serves to make Peeta feel even more guilty about how he left things with his brother.

Peeta wonders, briefly, how Katniss would react if there were a letter from him waiting for her when she arrives at the Hawthornes' next week. He quickly decides he doesn't care and that he'll be sending one to her anyway. This afternoon, in fact. Between his jobs.

He begins composing the letter in his head as the train takes him towards the deli and his workday.

_Dear Katniss,_ it begins.

_I'm here. I'm waiting for you. I understand why you did this, even though I hate it._

_I love you, Katniss. Oh, God, I want you here with me so badly I can't think about anything else._

Peeta traces patterns in the condensation on the window next to his train car. He allows a smile to slowly creep across his face, and he vows that today, he'll write his brother back as well.


	18. Chapter 18

_a/n: As always, thank you all so much for your patience between updates. I wish I could write as quickly as I did when I began this story, but life continues to get in the way. I can't promise speedier updates but I CAN promise that I will be seeing this story through to its completion._

_Many thanks to the wonderful MalTease for quite literally holding my hand as I wrote this chapter. And to everyone who's left reviews and supportive PMs along the way, and who's followed and favorited the story: thank you. Your support means so much to me._

* * *

_April 1939, New York, New York_

_Peeta grips Katniss' small hand tightly as he helps her onto the train, still not entirely convinced that her presence here beside him, after all these months, isn't just some elaborate dream. _

_As they settle themselves into their seats he reaches out to caress her cheek, a gesture meant both to reassure himself as well as reassure her. She smiles, leaning into his touch and into his side. He wraps his arm around her and he can tell she's thinner than she was the last time he touched her. Bone thin. He frowns._

_But then she touches his face with gentle fingertips and she smiles at him. And he knows, suddenly, that it's real. That's she's beside him. That they're going home - together. He clutches her free hand in gratitude and relief, laughing a little._

_The train lurches to life, then, jostling them both. Katniss turns from him as soon as the train begins to move, her eyes wide as she looks out the window. There's nothing to see yet – just the darkness of the labyrinthine underground tunnels connecting Manhattan to Brooklyn. But her eyes are trained out the window nonetheless, and when finally their car emerges into open space he can tell by the slight slackening of her jaw and the widening of her eyes that she's as mesmerized by her first real sight of America as he himself was not so very long ago. _

_She turns to face him, and suddenly his eyes are brimming with tears._

"_Welcome home," Peeta tells her, his voice raspy, enveloping her hand in his. He smiles at her and leans his forehead against hers. She sighs, and the sound is musical. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and clutches her hand._

"_Welcome home."_

* * *

_November 9th, 1938; Frankfurt-am-Main_

It's an unseasonably warm evening for November. As Katniss makes her way home from the market where she's been working ever since leaving her hiding place with Finnick and Annie and moving back in with the Hawthornes, she finds herself wishing she'd worn a lighter dress today.

Katniss is so uncomfortably warm right now, and so distracted, in her too-thick woolen clothing that when the first brick comes within inches of hitting her as it flies over her head, the first thing she really notices is how it ruffles her hair like a welcome spring breeze.

When another brick comes, this one missing her by a mile as it skitters down the road to her left, Katniss realizes that she's dreaming. Of course she is. She's reliving, through her dreams, the night that Rye and his friends threw a brick through the window of her papa's shop all those years ago. She's missing Peeta terribly right now – she just got a letter from him the other day, after all. A really romantic letter. It only makes sense that she'd dream about the night he first tried to kiss her after getting it.

Katniss lovingly fingers the letter in her pocket, the paper already starting to wear thin at the edges from multiple late night re-readings. She closes her eyes and shakes her head sharply in an attempt to wake up. That was a horrible night (and besides: she never even _got _that kiss). She has no interest in reliving it now, or ever.

But then another brick shatters the window of the storefront behind her and transforms it, instantly, into millions of sharp glass projectiles. Before she can even register it's happened, her arms are pierced through with glass shards, her body is on fire, and she knows this is no dream.

Then another brick comes, and another, one after the other in rapid succession, and despite the agony in her face, her chest, her arms - despite the blood she sees seeping from her now, dripping from her body and puddling on the ground – she knows she needs to _run_.

She tries to move. She _begs_ her traitorous body to move. But time has slowed to a crawl, suddenly, and her legs are made of lead, and she's rooted to the spot. She hears glass shattering all around her and wonders, fleetingly, if tonight is the night she'll see her papa again.

"_Katniss!"_

The sound of her name breaks of her out of her fog. Katniss whips her head towards the speaker and suddenly Gale is riding towards her at breakneck speed on an expensive-looking bicycle she's never seen before.

He slams on the brakes when he reaches her. "_Get on!"_ His eyes are wide, wild.

She doesn't ask him where he got the bicycle. The sounds of screaming and shattering glass echo all around them now, and in the moment it doesn't matter from where, or whom, he stole it. She complies wordlessly, as quickly as her shaking limbs – also screaming, now – will allow.

Before she's even gotten both arms around Gale's waist he's off again, like a shot, weaving in and around cars and bicycles and groups of men brandishing large sticks and streets full of hurrying, terrified people.

Katniss tries to keep her eyes fixed on the back of Gale's neck instead of on the scene around them. And then, when they come across a broken body lying motionless on the ground not one hundred feet from the house she and her mother now share with the Hawthornes, she screws them shut as tightly as she can and buries her face into his shoulder. He stiffens almost imperceptibly at the contact but she can't worry about that now.

Gale brings the bicycle up to the front of his family's home, and urges Katniss to get off. She does as quickly as she can, each step an agony as the glass cuts into her further.

"I need to find Sae," he grits out, agitated. "And Vick. He's still at work, he hasn't come home yet." He looks up at her, anguish in his eyes. "I'll be back soon."

"Gale!" Katniss yells, strangely hoarse. "You can't be serious…"

"Sae closed her shop an hour ago," Gale snaps back at her. "And no one's seen her. And Vick…" he trails off, shaking his head. "I can't let them walk home in this."

As if to prove him right, a long series of gunshots suddenly rings out over the din of sirens and screams, followed immediately by shouting and cheers.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Gale assures her. She tries again, futilely, to stop him but the world is suddenly spinning around her as she stands at the Hawthornes' door. He's already peddling away from her.

"Gale…" Katniss whispers. She raises her hand towards his retreating figure. Out of strength, she leans against the front door of the Hawthornes' home for support as she's drawn down into darkness.

* * *

When Katniss wakes up, she's lying prone on the narrow bed she shares with her mother, her face, arms, legs – her entire body – a screaming agony.

The room is pitch black. It was early evening when Gale brought her home – not quite sunset. She realizes, with a start, that she has no idea how long she's been unconscious.

She sits up as best she can and gingerly runs her hands over herself to assess her injuries. Her hands, arms, lower legs, and face are covered in bandages. Someone – probably Hazelle – must have treated and dressed her cuts while she was unconscious.

Despite the excruciating pain she feels Katniss understands that it could have been much, much worse. In the end her choice of clothing proved fortuitous. Her ankles and calves are a mess of injuries, as are her hands and lower arms. But the thickness of the woolen dress provided some measure of protection, and she has very few cuts above the knee or elbow.

She gingerly reaches up to touch her face and grimaces as her fingertips brush against the thick bandages she finds there.

Katniss climbs out of bed carefully and eases into the slippers she keeps at the foot of the bed. Slowly, she pads down the stairs to the Hawthornes' sitting room.

There are a lot of people here, not all of them Hawthornes. Sae's here, and so is her simple granddaughter. Katniss sees Posey and Rory playing a game of jacks by the hearth, Rory's shoulders slumped and his face drawn. She looks up at the dining table and sees Hazelle, Gale, and Vick sitting together, a mug of something hot and steaming in front of each of them.

To Katniss' relief, Vick appears uninjured. She looks over at Gale next. While his hands and head are partially bandaged, he looks to be in better shape than she herself is in.

Katniss breathes a sigh of relief and joins them at the table.

"Katniss…" Hazelle begins, and turns to face her. She smiles a little, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes, and Katniss immediately knows that something is very wrong.

"Must have ridden all over the city tonight. But… couldn't find her," Gale says hoarsely, to no one in particular. A long string of gunshots rings out in the distance and the children in front of the hearth flinch. Gale runs his hands over his face, and when he sees Katniss looking at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised, he buries his face in them.

"Couldn't find who?" Katniss asks, but the expressions on Hazelle's and Vick's faces tell her that she doesn't want to know. Which tells her everything she needs to know.

No one else says anything for a very long moment. The noise of breaking glass and screaming and shouting from the streets grows louder, filling the room and making talking nearly impossible. Eventually, Gale announces authoritatively, without preamble or further explanation, that they should spend the rest of the night downstairs.

He's the man of the house now, and no one would protest even if they wanted to. Everyone shuffles wordlessly down the stairs to the Hawthornes' unfinished – and windowless – basement. Posey sits down first, curling up into a ball as if trying to disappear into herself. Vick sits beside her, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder.

Once everyone is seated as comfortably as the cramped unfinished space will allow, Gale turns to face Katniss. "I looked… everywhere, Katniss, I _swear_, but –"

He's cut off by the sound of breaking glass, deafeningly loud, from up above them. Posey begins to cry, and Sae begins to recite the _Sch'ma. _

Katniss collapses into Gale. He reacts quickly, wrapping his arms around her. Part of her knows this isn't fair, that she shouldn't do this to him, but then the image of her mother's face swims in front of her eyes, and then another loud crashing noise comes from above, and then heavy footsteps upstairs, and she cannot deny herself this tiny modicum of comfort.

"I've got you," Gale says, hoarsely, fiercely. He holds her tighter.

* * *

None of them sleep that night.

The sounds of screams and shattering glass finally begin to abate as the sun rises. As soon as it is well and truly up, Gale announces that he's leaving again to find out what he can from friends and neighbors. Given the scope of what's happened here, perhaps even the newspaper – normally totally untrustworthy when it comes to issues that directly affect Germany's Jewish people – may have reported something?

"I won't be gone long," he reassures Hazelle as she clutches at his sleeve. He envelops her in a hug. "But we need to know the extent of this."

His mother nods wordlessly. As Gale pulls away from her she folds her arms tightly across her chest. Gale looks up at Katniss, seated, as she had been all night long, at the small table in the Hawthorne's basement. He smiles grimly at her, and takes the stairs up to the first floor of the house two at a time. Katniss hears the loud slam of the front door as he shuts it behind him.

Katniss fidgets in her seat and plucks at the stray thread coming off one of the bandages on her hand. What the hell are they supposed to _do_ down here? What exactly are they waiting for?

"I think we should all go back upstairs," she blurts out, about ten minutes after Gale leaves.

Seven pairs of eyes – all of them rimmed with red, all of them with dark circles underneath them – snap to hers.

"I just…" Katniss begins, but trails off, not certain what she had intended to say in the first place, knowing only that she can't bear being down here and cut off from _knowing _for another minute.

No one else seems to feel as she does, though. And so they continue to sit and wait.

* * *

But over a period of several hours, the Hawthornes, Sae, and Katniss do all work up the courage to leave the basement together. They walk up the stairs, carefully, Rory taking the lead with an axe in his hand, into the main floor of the Hawthornes' home. Katniss takes the rear and moving more slowly than the others. She thought she'd registered the full extent of her injuries yesterday, but yesterday's pain was nothing compared to what she's feeling now.

To everyone's immense relief, everything looks more or less as usual the main floor. There are dirty bootprints on the wooden floor, but they'd heard footsteps so they're hardly surprising. They already knew people had been here last night.

But aside from the mud on the floor, a few overturned tables that Rory and Vick rush to stand upright, and a smashed kitchen window that should be easy enough to repair, none of the Hawthornes' possessions seem to have been significantly disturbed. Katniss lets out a breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding.

Her legs suddenly threaten to buckle under her, and she realizes for the first time just how exhausted she is.

"I think I'll go upstairs and lie down," Katniss tells Hazelle. The older woman says nothing, nodding sympathetically.

Katniss goes up to her room. Gale will find her mother, she knows. He found _her_ last night, didn't she? And Sae, and Vick. He found them all and brought them home. He'll find Ilse Everdeen today.

Katniss carefully takes down her mother's dressing gown from its hanger in the closet and wraps herself up in it as she lies down on her mother's side of their small bed. She's asleep in minutes.

* * *

_November 10__th__, 1938; New York, New York_

Finally home after a brutal thirteen hour double shift at the bakery, Peeta wearily climbs the stairs of Delly's walkup, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand.

Thinking over the salacious things he'd put in his most recent letter to Katniss (in which he had described, in rather graphic detail, exactly what he planned to _do_ to her when he finally managed to get her into their marriage bed) had gotten him through the long day. But now that the day's over, all he can think about is falling into tub of warm water and then bed.

It's only 8 in the evening, and he knows his nephew will likely still be awake. And so he doesn't make any effort to be especially quiet when he opens the door to Delly's and Thom's flat. He drops his work satchel on the floor by the front door as he steps through it, running his hands through his hair.

He was right – the baby is still awake. Delly and Thom are sitting on the couch in the front room, their son sitting between then, playing with a small wind-up toy Peeta bought for him last month with a bit of spare money the owner of the bakery gave him as a sort of bonus.

"Hi," Peeta calls out from the doorway, yawning.

To his surprise, Thom _shushes_ him, quite loudly, without turning around to face him. He motions for Peeta to be quiet, his eyes still riveted on the large wireless in the center of the room.

Delly turns to look at Peeta, her lips pressed together in a firm line.

"Hi Peeta," she says, quietly, but her attention is back on the wireless in an instant.

Finding Delly and Thom together on the couch in the evening, listening to the wireless together before they put Mitch to bed, is nothing unusual. But they aren't listening to the comedy routines or musical hours they normally enjoy in the evenings. The news is on, which it never is at this hour, and the atmosphere in the room is so tense and thick one could cut it with a knife.

Peeta crosses over to the armchair adjacent to the couch where the little Doellefeld family is sitting, but he might as well not even be in the room for all the attention they're paying him.

Peeta knows there has been a lot of news on the wireless of late about America's lingering economic depression. Here in New York, things are rough, and there are lots of men without work. But he also knows that what they have, here, is nothing compared to what people in what America calls its "heartland" are facing. There, entire towns – with no crops, food, jobs, or even hope to cling to – are simply packing up en masse and moving west.

In truth, Peeta doesn't really know very much about America's economic problems. He works so much and so hard that he rarely has time to sit with Delly and Thom and listen to the wireless in the evenings. The little bit he does know are pieces he's managed to glean from Delly, during their rare breakfasts together, and from Charlie, his friend and coworker who left the family farm in Kansas two years ago to find work out here in the city.

But the man on the wireless isn't talking about the Depression right now.

"_They're calling it 'The Night of Broken Glass,"_ the man's deep, flawless voice rings out into the Doellefelds' small front room. "_There's very little we know for certain. Hitler's government is giving providing its version of events, but eyewitness reports from Berlin and Munich paint a very different picture."_

Peeta's blood turns to ice in his veins. The American news _never_ reports on events Germany. He learned that immediately upon arriving here. "What?" he shouts without realizing he's done it, standing up, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides.

Delly makes a reassuring hand gesture towards him but doesn't turn to face him. Thom doesn't acknowledge him at all.

"_Early this morning, Herr Seneca Crane, a high-ranking officer in Hitler's SS and the usual spokesman for the Nazi government, issued a statement saying only that the Nazi government is currently getting retribution for the murder of a German diplomat abroad by someone he describes only as "a young Jewish hooligan.'" _The voice on the wireless pauses, and the speaker clears his throat. "_Eyewitnesses, however, are telling NBC news that Jewish homes and businesses in major cities throughout Germany are being defaced and burned to the ground. Others report that so many windows have been broken by mobs of both uniformed and non-uniformed men that the ground in the Jewish sections of Berlin resemble nothing so much as a sea of broken glass shards."_

Delly gasps and buries her face in her hands. Peeta's eyes are fixed on the wireless as he tries to ignore the despair flooding his body and churning in his stomach.

"_Again, the Nazi government is saying very little,_" the man's voice continues. "_But putting two and two together, and assuming our eyewitnesses' accounts are even somewhat reliable, we at NBC news also believe that the Nazi government is taking large numbers of young Jewish men and relocating them to detention centers across the country –"_

At these words, it feels as though Peeta's mind snaps in two. He stands up again.

"I'm going out," he announces to the room. Delly makes a noise of protest but Peeta's already halfway to their front door.

The fatigue and pain from his workday forgotten, he flies down the walkup's creaky old stairs and sprints the short distance to Haymitch's flat.

* * *

When he gets there, Peeta finds Haymitch pacing his small living room, clearly agitated, cradling a glass of whisky in his right hand. Primrose is seated on the living room couch, white as a sheet. Effie is seated at the dining room table, her hands folded so tightly together her knuckles are white.

Their wireless in the center of the room is crackling, which means they must have just switched it off. Peeta knows he doesn't have to tell them what he's just heard.

"Haymitch?" Peeta says. The single word is both a question and a plea.

"Kid –" Haymitch begins. He shakes his head. "I don't know." He doesn't clarify, but he doesn't need to. "We wait, I suppose."

"Wait…" Peeta repeats, blankly. "Wait. Wait for –"

But the weight of his worry and grief break him, and he's unable to get out the rest of his thought before he's overcome by crippling sobs.

"Katniss," he wails, his hands clenched into fists, gouging into his eyes. "Oh, God, her mother, everyone, _Katniss_ –"

Distantly, almost as if it's happening to another person, he feels a pair of arms embrace him. He's not sure who they belong to; it doesn't matter. He buries his face into the person's neck and pours out his agony through his tears.

"We'll get her," Haymitch tells him into his ear. Haymitch is the one holding him.

"But –" Peeta begins to protest, blubbering.

"We'll get her," Haymitch interrupts, more forcefully this time. Peeta pulls back to look into the older man's eyes.

"The fact that we heard about this over the wireless tonight…" Haymitch says, then trails off. He shakes his head infinitesimally and squares his jaw. "Kid, I think…. I think this might change things for everyone."


	19. Chapter 19

_a/n: I can now definitively say that after this update there will be one more, final, chapter and then an epilogue. _

_Thanks again to everyone who's supported me over the past year (!oh my goodness, it's been nearly a YEAR!) with reviews, favorites, and follows, and to everyone who's put up with the horrible delays between updates. And thank you to MalTease, Sponsormusings, Deathmallow, and Court81981. It's not a stretch to say I wouldn't have been able to write this story without your encouragement and support. That said, all historical and other inaccuracies are 100% mine._

_Please note that this chapter has the following trigger warnings: Implied violence and implied major character death. _

* * *

_November 10th, 1938; Frankfurt-am-Main_

Rory Hawthorne finds Ilse Everdeen shortly after eleven o'clock the morning after the world was shattered into millions of tiny glass pieces, her body broken and bleeding, propped up awkwardly against the back wall of the synagogue two miles from the Hawthornes' home.

When he carries her into the house – cradled against his chest like a rag doll, clearly seriously injured and delirious but still alive – Katniss falls to her knees and sobs with relief.

"I think she was trying to hide," Rory opines quietly, gently placing Ilse on the settee in the Hawthornes' front room. Katniss' mother moans and squeezes her eyes shut tightly.

In an instant, Sae and Hazelle rush to her side, easing her out of her badly bloodied clothing as she continues to moan incoherently.

"I found her behind some bushes in back of the temple," Rory says. His own shirt is smeared with blood, most likely from carrying Ilse, but he pays it no mind. "The assholes who did all of _this_," he waves his arms, gesturing wildly, clearly indicating everything that's happened to and around them over the past sixteen hours, "only smashed up the front of the temple. But they left the back of the building alone." He shrugs. "I figure she must have dragged herself there, somehow, from somewhere else, because there was no broken glass that could have hurt her near where I found her."

Katniss walks tentatively over to her mother and watches, wide-eyed, as the older women get to work. She's never known what to do when someone falls ill, and she feels more than a little useless now. As Sae and Hazelle work, Katniss looks her mother over and tries to take in the full extent of her injuries.

Ilse has gashes similar to the ones Katniss has on her arms, legs, and face. But her mother must have much deeper injuries covering her torso as well, given the large amount of blood that's seeping through the front of her thin cotton dress even now, hours after she must have been injured.

Sae and Hazelle work quickly, bandaging Ilse and dressing her carefully in her dressing gown – the same one Katniss slept with last night in their bed. Ilse's eyes remain closed throughout, but she mumbles, almost as if to herself, periodically, and Katniss knows she's conscious.

When they've finished their work, Ilse opens her eyes and weakly asks for a glass of water.

Katniss, grateful to have something she can do for her mother, jumps up like a shot and rushes to the kitchen. She's back at her mother's side within seconds and hands the glass to her.

"I'm so glad you're ok, Mama," she manages, as tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes. She clutches at her mother's hand and squeezes it.

"It's good I found her when I did," Rory says, quietly, eyes averted, from the adjoining room. He and Vick quickly fled the scene once Sae and Hazelle began to undress Ilse. "Because it isn't over yet."

Katniss turns to look at him. "What do you mean?"

Rory swallows audibly. "There are still big groups of men out there, roaming around with sticks and… breaking windows and… " He trails off when he sees Posey watching him closely, her eyes wide as saucers.

Katniss nods and puts her free hand on his arm. "Thank you, Rory."

Rory smiles wanly and nods back at her.

"Of course, Katniss," he says. "We're family."

* * *

Katniss is so pre-occupied with making sure her mother is comfortable; so overjoyed that Rory was able to find her and bring her back home; and so startled by the shouting and gunfire that still can be heard on occasion from the streets; that it isn't until rather late in the afternoon that she realizes, with a start, that Gale has been gone ever since he left the basement early this morning.

She glances around the room from her perch next to her mother's makeshift sick bed. Posey and Vick are on stools in the kitchen, silent as ghosts and nearly as pale. Katniss understands, immediately, feeling incredibly guilty, that everyone else has likely been concerned about Gale's whereabouts for hours.

"What should we do?" Vick finally asks Hazelle as she sets the table for dinner two hours later. He doesn't clarify what he means, but he doesn't need to. As the sun begins to set Gale's prolonged absence is like an actual physical presence in their home. Vick's fists clench and unclench at his sides, and he paces back and forth as he waits for his mother to respond, clearly eager to take some kind of action immediately.

"We should go look for him is what we should do," Rory answers his brother. He bends down to lace up his boots and Vick follows suit.

But Hazelle will have none of it.

"Your brother is fine," Hazelle snaps at them both, waving away their concerns dismissively with her dishtowel. "Bristel's in town from Munich all week, visiting family," she points out. "He's probably with her."

While it's true that Gale has taken to courting various girls that live nearby ever since Katniss moved in with his family – and while she's suspected on more than one occasion that Bristel Simmons means more to him than most of the others – Katniss cannot imagine that he'd be out flirting with girls today of all days.

"But mother –" Rory begins, argumentatively, hands on hips.

"You are _not. going. out there." _Hazelle spits at him through gritted teeth. "It was risky enough when you went out this morning. But that was in broad daylight, and I will _not _have you going out again, as the sun goes down, when your brother's likely just out getting drunk or fucking some girl. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

The authorities – or maybe it was just young hooligans – cut power to this entire neighborhood sometime in the middle of last night. They're using candles to see by, now, and the tiny flames are reflected in Hazelle's eyes, making her look fierce and impenetrable.

She puts her hands on her hips. "Sit down," she commands. "We're having dinner, and this conversation is—"

Before she's finished speaking, a machine gun starts firing, cutting her off. The loud _rat-a-tat-a-tat_ is close enough to their home that it rattles the plates in the Hawthornes' small china hutch and ricochets off the walls.

And then all noise stops, suddenly, and the room falls eerily quiet.

"Please don't go," Hazelle pleads with her sons, in a very different voice than the one she'd used just a moment ago. "Please." There's a terrified look in normally strong, unflappable Hazelle's eyes that Katniss has never seen there before, and it shakes her to her core.

Rory and Vick look similarly cowed.

"All right, Mother," Rory says quietly. He walks to his place at the table – to the left of its head, where Gale normally sits, and pulls out his chair.

"Let's eat, everyone," he says, trying to sound authoritative, Katniss can tell; but his voice shakes like mad. He sits down, and his younger siblings, Sae, and Katniss do the same.

Hazelle, her lips pressed together in a thin line, begins serving up the cold noodle _kugel_ she prepared by candlelight for their supper.

* * *

_December 1938, Frankfurt am Main_

Katniss fidgets with the hem of her black dress, already anxious for the day to be over even though it's barely begun. The fact that she's here, helping the Hawthornes with this awful task today, makes her feel ill.

But she doesn't question its necessity.

The last time she sat _shiva_ for someone – the last time she put on a black dress and entertained houseguests who'd come to pay their respects with food and sympathetic smiles – was for Papa, years ago. But as terrible a week as that was, at least they'd known exactly where Papa was and exactly what had happened to him.

Papa was, of course, dead. From a heart attack. Gale was there when it happened and told them everything.

_Gale_.

The Hawthornes' electricity has been back on again for the past two weeks, which means mourners – if "mourners" is really the right word for them – won't have to eat and talk in the dark. Hazelle counted that among their blessings this morning as she herself donned black and prepared her home for neighbors and friends who'd be by today to share their memories of her oldest son.

It also means they've been able to listen to the wireless again at night. The newsman has lots of things to tell them, but none of it is information the Hawthornes or Katniss especially want to hear.

There's a lot of guff about how Jews are to blame for _Kristallnacht_, the name that's been given to what happened last month. The events of November 9th and 10th were, according to the government, a popular uprising: a spontaneous outpouring of righteous indignation over the murder of a German diplomat by a young Jewish man in Paris.

Given that _Kristallnacht_ was the Jews' punishment for that murder, the newsman tells them, the government expects the Jews to repay it for any destruction to German property that occurred that evening.

The newsman also frequently tells them what happened with the Jewish people who allegedly fought back against German citizens during _Kristallnacht _and caused destruction of their own. They've apparently been arrested – most of them young Jewish men who happened to be out the night of November 9th and the following day – and sent to various camps across the country that until now had been reserved only for the most heinous criminals against the state.

_Dachau_. _Buchenwald_. _Sachsenhausen_. The announcer reads their names off every night over the wireless. Like Katniss or the Hawthornes might forget about them if he skipped a night. The hateful names rattle inside Katniss' head every waking moment now, even when the wireless isn't on. And sometimes in her dreams.

But no one on the wireless or in the government is telling them the only information they _really _want to know, which is what happened to Gale after he left his home the morning of November 10th. Because they haven't seen Gale since then, when he bounded up the stairs, two at a time, to set out for news of what had happened.

Katniss and the Hawthornes don't think he was murdered that day. For one thing, they know that not many people were actually murdered on _Kristallnacht_. If a lot of people had been killed that night and the following day, they think they'd at least have heard about it from neighbors and friends, if not from official government channels.

Besides, in the past few weeks Rory and his friends have been over and over every square inch of Frankfurt, multiple times, looking for Gale. And they've found no sight of either him or his body.

Because of this – and because they just _know_ that Gale would never run off, leaving his family behind – as more and more days passed, the Hawthornes became increasingly convinced that he was among the young men who were rounded up and arrested by SS officials on November 10th.

Nobody really knows what happens at these prisons. The government is clearly proud of the facilities and boasts often about their state of the art equipment. But what actually _happens_ at them is classified information.

Nonetheless, a week ago, Hazelle told the family, and Katniss, that she thought it best that they sat _shiva_ for Gale this week. Just in case.

No one in the family argued with her.

* * *

When the first _shiva _guests arrive at one o'clock in the afternoon, Katniss opens the door. It's Streu and Johanna, heavily pregnant with their first child.

But they don't come in. They stay on the porch and motion for Katniss to come out and join them.

"Katniss," Streu murmurs. He cups her cheek in his hand and smiles sadly at her. "I'm so sorry."

Johanna tries to give her a hug. But it's awkward, and not just because of her enormous belly. "We can't stay long," she whispers in Katniss' ear.

Katniss pulls away quickly for Jo's benefit. "I know," she says. Of course they can't stay long. It isn't safe.

"We just wanted you to know that…" Streu begins, then trails off. He shakes his head again as if to clear it. Instead of finishing his thought, he hands her a large covered dish of something warm that smells delicious.

"Thank you." She knows he wanted to say how sorry they are; he likely found the words insufficient.

"Be well, Katniss," Streu says.

He nods, then, and puts his arm around the small of Johanna's back. He escorts her back to their waiting vehicle and helps situate her inside.

"Wait!" Katniss calls out loudly before Streu has closed Johanna's door. She rushes over to their vehicle, the heels of her shoes clicking against the walk.

Streu turns to face her.

Katniss closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. He's the only person she knows who works for the government. She doesn't even know what he _does_ for the government anymore, it's been so long since she spoke with him regularly. But he's their only hope of learning anything.

"Those… camps," Katniss begins, haltingly. Streu blanches a little and closes Johanna's door behind him, ostensibly to keep his very pregnant wife from hearing this conversation. Johanna starts shouting expletives as he closes the door but Streu ignores her.

"The places where they've taken those young men," Katniss clarifies. "Do you know anything about them?"

Streu puts his hand on her shoulder. "About what they're like?" he asks, gently.

Katniss can't seem to find her voice. She nods.

Streu sighs. "Not really, no," Streu he answers, sadness lacing his tone. "Only that…" He shakes his head again.

"Only that what?" Katniss presses.

Streu pinches the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes before continuing. "Only that I think the Hawthornes' sitting _shiva_ today is probably appropriate."

Katniss swallows audibly. She nods.

He looks up and embraces her suddenly and fiercely. "When you see my brother again," he murmurs quietly, "tell him that I love him."

Katniss smiles a little against his shoulder, unable to keep from noticing that Streu used the word _when_ rather than _if_.

She wishes she shared his optimism.

"I will," she says. "Please stay in touch?"

"Of course."

He pulls away from her then and walks around to his side of the vehicle.

"Goodbye, Katniss Everdeen," he says. He climbs wordlessly into his vehicle and drives away.

* * *

_January 1939, New York, New York_

Peeta is in the Doellefeld's small dining room, drafting a letter to Streu congratulating him on the recent birth of his daughter Eleanor, when Haymitch bursts into Delly's flat without knocking.

"Kid," he blurts out. He's panting, like he's just run a long distance, and sweat is pouring down his face in rivulets despite today's frigid winter weather. "We need to talk."

_That much is obvious_, Peeta thinks to himself. He puts down his pen.

"What's going on that couldn't wait until dinner tonight?" Peeta asks him, one eyebrow raised. He'd planned to meet Haymitch, Effie, and Primrose for dinner tonight. He hadn't expected to see Haymitch for several more hours.

Haymitch paces the room furiously as he tries to catch his breath. He takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and mops his brow.

"I have a meeting with an immigration official this afternoon," he says, still panting a little. "I told him, when he told me we couldn't bring Katniss or Ilse over here, that if there was _ever_ a change in circumstances, he needed to contact me right away."

Peeta's heart starts hammering in his chest in spite of himself. "And?" he asks, willing himself to stay calm.

Haymitch smiles. "_And,_ he rang me up today. Told me to be at his office at 3 this afternoon." He returns his handkerchief to his pocket. For the first time since Peeta has known him Haymitch actually winks at Peeta. "He didn't say much beyond that, but I figured you might want to join me for this meeting."

Peeta jumps out of his chair so quickly he accidentally knocks over the bottle of ink he'd just been writing with.

Haymitch lets out a sharp bark of laughter.

"Oh, _fuck_," Peeta mutters under his breath, hastily righting the ink bottle and dabbing impotently at the spilled ink with his sleeve.

"Leave it for now, kid," Haymitch suggests. Peeta looks up at him, his bottom lip between his teeth. The older man is still smiling. "I think the Doellefelds will forgive you just this once."

* * *

Haymitch explains his theory behind why Mr. Henderson called him today on the subway ride to Manhattan.

"_Kristallnacht_ changed things," he says to Peeta abruptly, hands folded in his lap.

Peeta can barely hear Haymitch over the din of the subway car and the noise of his heart hammering in his ears. But he strains to listen all the same, knowing, instinctively, that this is very important.

"Until now, no one was paying Germany any attention. Actually, that's not quite right," he added, quickly. "No one outside of a few European countries was paying Germany any attention. But they made quite the splash in November, and now America is listening and watching." He pauses, and then scoffs derisively. "Well. More than they were before, anyway."

Peeta doesn't know what to say in response to that. He glances out the subway car, at the city rushing by, and lets Haymitch continue.

"I could be wrong," Haymitch says. "I could very well be wrong. But I suspect this gentleman is going to give us good news today."

* * *

When they arrive at Mr. Henderson's office, Peeta finds himself wishing he'd thought to put on a tie. Or at least changed out of his partially ink-covered shirt. He's more nervous than he's been at any time in recent memory and his palms are sweating.

He wipes them on his trousers surreptitiously as Mr. Henderson's plump secretary escorts them into his office.

"Good to see you again, Mr. Abernathy," the man who must be Mr. Henderson says, extending his hand across his small desk towards them. Haymitch takes it and gives it a quick pump in greeting.

"Henderson," Haymitch says simply, nodding. He takes one of the two seats across the desk from him without being invited to sit down and gestures wordlessly for Peeta to take the other one.

Peeta complies, his heart in his throat.

"And who is this?" Mr. Henderson asks kindly, speaking to Haymitch but looking right at Peeta.

Haymitch glances at Peeta, indicating that he should be the one to respond.

"I'm… P-P-Peeta," he stammers. He cringes inwardly at how foolish he must sound to this man who carries Katniss' and her mother's fate in his hands. "Peeta Mellark."

"Nice to meet you, Peeta Mellark," Mr. Henderson says, smiling.

He turns back to Haymitch. "I have news, Mr. Abernathy. Of course, you know that already," he adds, laughing a little. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

Haymitch rolls his eyes theatrically. "Of course."

Mr. Henderson nods. "All right then." He clears his throat. "The quotas we discussed the last time you were in my office, Mr. Abernathy, have not been eliminated. _But_ – they have been increased."

Haymitch leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "Which means what, exactly?"

"Contrary to what I know you believe, Mr. Abernathy, the United States is not blind," Mr. Henderson says. "We still aren't exactly throwing our doors open to Jewish immigrants, mind. But the federal government, just like you and I, are appalled by what transpired in Germany last November, Mr. Abernathy." Mr. Henderson's lips are pressed into a tight line. "I can assure you that I _am_ appalled," he says in a quiet, conspiratorial tone.

Peeta has to swallow a large lump in his throat before he finds his voice.

"What do we need to do?" Peeta asks, his voice cracking in the middle. But he's too terrified right now to be mortified about it. "Please, sir. We'll – I'll – do anything."

Mr. Henderson turns to face Peeta again.

"We need to be certain that Mrs. and Ms. Everdeen will either have gainful employment, or else be well-provided for, upon arrival," he tells Peeta. "Jews who have no family here, who have no prospects, are still not welcome to emigrate here, I'm sorry to say. But Jewish Germans with relatively affluent family…" he trails off, gesturing with his hands. "They face a different set of circumstances."

Haymitch scoffs derisively. "Henderson, you know I'm the co-chair of the Eastern European history department at NYU. I've been there for years. I can provide for them."

Mr. Henderson shakes his head. "I don't know that that will be enough. You're already supporting one niece, and neither Ilse nor Katniss Everdeen will likely be able to secure any sort of gainful employment for a very long time after arriving." He shakes his head again. "Times are rough, they're women, and by your own accounting neither of them speak English."

Peeta throws back his chair and rises to his feet involuntarily.

"Sir," he says, in a voice that's loud and clear and strong. "I'm in love with Katniss Everdeen. I have been since I was five years old. And I'm going to marry her the _second_ she arrives in New York City." His hands clench and unclench involuntarily at his sides. "Sir," Peeta adds, hastily.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Haymitch rolling his eyes. But he's smiling, too. Mr. Henderson looks Peeta over appraisingly.

"And can support her, Peeta Mellark?" he asks, a little doubtfully, one eyebrow raised. "You can't be more than, what? Twenty years old?"

"I'm twenty-one, sir," he says, trying to stand a little taller. "I've been working two jobs ever since arriving in New York six months ago." His heart is pounding in his chest; he knows everything rides on this. "I have some money saved and even though I live with family right now, I can afford my own flat."

Peeta swallows hard before continuing.

"And when Ms. Everdeen gets here, sir… I'll _marry_ her," Peeta says again, as emphatically as he can.

"And you're quite certain she'll have you?" Mr. Henderson asks him pointedly. But he's grinning broadly now, and Haymitch is laughing uproariously. And Peeta knows he's won.

"Yes," he says, breathlessly. "Or, well…. I believe she will." His hands twist in front of him. "Her letters say as much."

Mr. Henderson chuckles. "Well that's very good to hear."

"So?" Haymitch cuts in. "Are you convinced? Can we start making plans?"

Mr. Henderson nods. "Yes, I think so. Between your income, and Mr. Mellark's – and given that you already have sufficient funds to pay for their transport to New York – it's just a matter of filing the necessary paperwork and waiting a few months for it all to get approved."


End file.
